Board of Squares
by 0-mirage-0
Summary: Ed has finally restored Alphonse to his flesh body, but as Alphonse adjusts, Ed's devotion is misunderstood. [Completed. Chapters uploaded biweekly. Last Updated: 09/21/17; Next Update: Saturday 10/07/17.]
1. Fourteen Year Old Fetus Part One

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Board of Squares  
Chapter One Part One  
 _Fourteen-Year-Old Fetus_

\- mirage–

Ed laid his arm over the top of the payphone's square body and bowed his head in exhaustion. His gaze fell to his black leather boots, and the shadow of his body under the noonday sun. The meager population of the town yielded privacy, and allowed the moronic idea of phoning Mustang's office from a public line a level of conceivability, without doing much for the nagging sense of discomfort Ed couldn't displace.

Mustang was dragging the call out on purpose. He didn't like operators patching civilian lines to his desk, and he was less than impressed with Ed's tardy static-filled reporting. This Tuesday was peaceful for him, and courtesy was not much of a motivator. Lazily browsing reports, Mustang let the minutes tick by, peppering conversation with scattered tranquil comments in a tone of indifference.

The message went unspoken, but staring at his feet Ed heard it loud and clear. _Call me from a stupid place, and we'll have a stupid call, stupid._

"I have shit to do," Ed said, defensively. "I don't have time to waste, Mustang. What is it you want?"

Sighing, Mustang asked in a slow casual drawl, "Do I have to want something?" There was the faint sound of flipping papers. A sort of magazine perusing that meant two hours North not much was happening in Central. _Flip, flip, flip, oh let's see now, let's look at this for a moment._

"I'm hanging up." Ed lied. He didn't need a black mark now. Not when things were so precarious. "You think you're so clever," Ed said, lowering his voice. "Think I wouldn't see this for what it is? That I wouldn't figure it out?" Requesting random calls, at random times, it was like using a baby monitor to watch your toddler. "I know this bullshit is just to keep tabs on me, and I don't fucking have time for it." He'd left the clinic lobby to make this shit call, and he didn't want to miss the appointment. The thought of waiting any longer was torture. In a tone that was harsh and authentic, he said, "Not now. I'm serious."

"These last few days, you haven't much sounded like you know what you're doing, Fullmetal." Mustang meant this kindly.

"I know fucking exactly, what I'm fucking doing," Ed seethed. "Exactly."

"You took a case I didn't assign to you."

"So what."

"You took it to leave Central." So Mustang had figured this much out. "Why aren't you in Central?" Genuine curiosity."You left him home alone?" Disapproval.

"I'm hanging up." After so many hours, after so many days, anxiety became a type of sickness. An affliction that spread into your systems from your own brain. Ed understood this from experience, and it drove a quiet fear his worrying would start saturating his brain muscles like a sponge soaking up grime. Turning the healthy gray matter black, like a rotting fruit, and misrouting signals. It was self-manufactured poison, of which the difficult cure was self-manufactured antibiotics, and it was onerous to produce more than one chemical at a time. When so much of your energy was sabotaged with worry, not enough was focused on problem solving, and Ed could hear this in Mustang's voice. He could hear the stricture. _What are you doing on the road, problem solving?_ Mustang didn't think so.

A slender hand grasped the back of Ed's shirt and began tugging. Without it, Ed felt he could have swallowed Mustang's monotonous torture. Not comfortably, but tolerably it could have gone on with him nervously standing in front of the small town clinic trying to pretend he was somewhere else, while Mustang wasted minutes trying to pretend he was about to discuss something he wasn't, but the prodding pushed Ed over the edge.

"I'm hanging up."

"Where are you calling me from? It's a public civilian line."

Ed rubbed a hand down his face. The tips of his gloves pulled his bangs along, flattening them until released. They lifted with less zeal, and were better fashioned for Ed's tired and overwhelmed expression.

"You know that East Central noodle place Falman loves?" Ed said. "I'm a few shops down, pissing my day away on the phone with your lame ass."

Mustang was quick. "Why don't you bring me lunch?" He didn't buy this for a second.

"Get your own fucking lunch." Ed brushed the tugging hand off his back, and it quickly relocated to his sleeve, and the tugging resumed. "I'm not an errand boy, you overpaid schmuck."

With a tone just as casual and unbothered, Mustang said, "I order you to bring me lunch."

The tugging stopped, and the hand singled out a finger for a rhythmic pocking of Ed's left flesh bicep. Ed slapped a palm over his eyes before turning around and giving Alphonse a sharp look. Mustang was making an argument as to why he could demand an Elric-lunch-delivery sounding whimsically halcyon and unconcerned, when Ed lowered the receiver with maddening exasperation, and choked out, "Yes, Alphonse. What is it?"

Alphonse was incredibly thin at fourteen, and stood silent, staring back at Ed thinking about the question asked to him. Ed looked different angry, and he sounded different when he talked to military personnel, and especially the Colonel. Something about him became diplomatic, his voice charismatic yet authoritative, and his agitation sharp and vicious. It was impressive, and Alphonse was impressed. It fascinated him greatly, because up until a few weeks ago, Ed had been a small squirrely animal dodging around his suit of armor, but now in a flesh body, Ed was bigger than him.

Ed put a finger to his lips, and said, "Just give me a minute, Al." He returned to the phone and spoke quickly. Alphonse watched the automail hand slowly tighten into a fist he was sure Ed wasn't aware of, and Ed's voice came through the meat of Alphonse's muscles, the density of his bones, the twists of his ear canals, the interpretation of his mind, and it was like a black and white conscious evolving to color. Ed's voice was suddenly real the way it had not been real in years. No longer was it a frequency echoing into the armor's metal frame like a poor quality radio down at the hips. It was the baritone of a man, vibrating up Ed's throat and Adam's apple, and snapping out his mouth.

Ed did not like Mustang's insinuations, and repeated this several times. _I don't like what you're insinuating. You don't know what you're talking about._ He adamantly did not want to bring the Colonel food. _Order something in, you pig._ He was lying about where they were. _Don't call me a cab asshole, I said I'm busy!_ Before, these things would have made Alphonse curious as to what his brother was doing, but now it felt nervously as if Ed was making decisions quickly, constantly, and Alphonse couldn't keep up.

He had previously been living in a state of omnipresent observance, impervious and indomitable to mortal life. His eyes had been a strip of light in a can of a helmet, and Ed had been a frail trivial organism twiddling about while susceptible to, and sabotaged by, disease and exhaustion. Although Alphonse loved his brother, and while in the armor wanted nothing more than to escape his metal shell, he had done more than adapt to the controlled unwavering existence of its entrapment, he had become it. It was a parallel immortality to the gift of humanity's lethal independence, and Alphonse had never imagined that indefinitely crossing back to a body would bring such an assaulting and gruesome change. He understood he had once been human, but the loss of the quiet metal darkness shook him.

He was robbed his shield and sword, and became a pound of meat capable of being killed, wounded, or eaten. It was horrifying, all of it, and everything, and the only comfort came from the one person always at his side: Nii-san.

 _But there was a toll here as well._

Ed raised his voice, and yelled at Mustang. Mustang said he was done with this obnoxious phone call and Ed's prevaricating narrative, and Ed said he was done taking orders from a fat-cat too lazy to get his own lunch. Ed's sonorous voice was frightening when he yelled. The automail hand gripping the top of the phone was like a clamp, and it seemed to Alphonse that he wasn't the only one with a new body in all of this. _Nothing about Ed was recognizable outside of the armor._

Ed was a bulging eighteen-year-old gladiator, comfortable and oblivious to what seemed a tremendous natural attack power. It surpassed anything Alphonse could remember, and when he was alone and tried his hardest to understand this profound change, he realized it was not his brother, but his own perception of strength that had changed. Occupying the undying armor it had been obvious Ed's strength was coupled with the weakness of his mortal design, because he could and would eventually die. He was only as strong as a mortal could be, and compared to immortality, that was a frail and ephemeral existence. Without mortality, and shrunken into a shaking ninety pound bit of flesh, Alphonse's gaze had changed. Ed had become gargantuan. His quick movements were frightening. The sound and unnecessary force of the metal arm and metal leg, intimidating, because life was at the receiving end of Edward Elric, and Alphonse's delicate skin bag was now subject to the same approach, and he was weary. _He was weary of everything._

"Nii-san?" Alphonse reached forward and tugged Ed's sleeve and arm downward. Ed acknowledged with an inquisitive glance. The snarl from his argument still twisting his expression into something mean. Softly, Alphonse whispered, "I don't like this place, Nii-san."

The anger in Ed's expression drained to exhausted forbearance. Alphonse was dressed in loose jeans and a long sleeve white shirt. It was nothing eye catching, and the outfit made him look younger and sicker still. The white of the cotton seemed to bleach his skin, and every place fabric could sag it did. Alphonse was a scarecrow underneath, and they had tried to dress him in human clothing.

"Nii-san?" Alphonse inched a step closer. "I want to leave."

Ed gave a reluctant nod, and whispered, "Alphonse, I know."

Alphonse stepped up and quickly wedged himself between the payphone and Ed's body for safety. _Ed might have been a subjugating warrior, but when things were frightening, he was still safe and loving Nii-san._ The connection made Alphonse calmer, but Ed tried to step back and separate the flush state of them. He protested with a small uncomfortable sound because it was difficult to explain that wiggling up against another person could cause them to feel uncomfortable with themselves. Alphonse was childishly clingy, and just as unmindful.

"I want to leave, Nii-san," Alphonse whined softy.

"Alphonse, I know. Just bear with me here," Ed said, returning his attention to his call. Mustang was still talking and Ed interrupted. "Colonel, I have to go. I have shit to do. This time I'm really going to hang up."

"Can't we just go?" Alphonse asked. _Tugging, whining, tugging and whining._

Mustang still did not believe they were in Central, and the deliberate wasting of time and flipping of papers was being done to send a very clear message. _We will not work like this. I know you are lying, and I will figure this out. I am steps ahead of you Elric, steps ahead of you._

Alphonse pushed his face into Ed's chest to block out the light. He felt nervous outdoors. He felt nervous outside of the safety of Central where they knew the people and geography. Through Ed's black shirt he could smell Ed's skin, and he sniffed with curiosity. There was more than one scent. There was soap, and laundry detergent, and the lingering ointment Ed applied to his ports to keep them safe.

With the sniffing, Ed pushed at Alphonse's head the way one might try to push off a licking dog. "You—I," Ed sputtered into the phone, trying to break free without use of force. _Can't push, you don't know how strong his neck really is. You could break it._ "Okay, I told you I was going to hang up, so I gave plenty of warning! You can waste my life later, Mustang! I'm getting some damn noodles." Ed slammed the receiver down and looked at Alphonse with disbelief. "What are you doing?" Alphonse looked up, worry still tense in his expression. "Are you smelling me?"

"Nii-san, you have not been listening to the myriad of concerns I have about this."

Ed grabbed Alphonse's hand, wagging a finger in chastisement, and said, "Don't smell me, Al. Not in public." Then he started a brisk walk back to the clinic entrance dragging Alphonse along. They were out in the sticks, on the outskirts of Awbeziz as passing travelers, and so far they were fetching no attention. _Thank, God._

Alphonse yanked his hand from Ed's and attached them to either side of Ed's hips, curling his fingers in like a cat extending its claws. He was protesting desperately, and whined, "Nii-san, you're not listening to me."

Ed didn't like all the grabbing. Detaching Alphonse's hands with a deep cleansing breath, Ed trapped Alphonse's delicate palms in his own, and said, "Alphonse, I am. I swear I am, but I can't go back-and-forth about this anymore. We have to." Alphonse was silent with disagreement. He couldn't understand Ed's thought process, and as he had clearly stated he disagreed many times, he didn't know what to do with the situation. It broke down to Ed forcing him, and that meant Ed thought this was very important.

Ed kept a tight grip on Alphonse's right hand and entered the clinic. He stalked past the tiny reception counter, and into the familiar lobby. They had arrived forty minutes ago, and waiting was martyrdom. Alphonse's anxiety over visiting the clinic was still exorbitantly high. For the last week Ed had tried to redirect Alphonse toward an approach that might put him at ease, but it seemed impossible.

Alphonse was afraid of the world meeting his new body, and required a controlled and rationed exposure. He could not comfortably handle a location he knew would have a higher probability of disease, and responded like a Mysophobic. He listed fact after fact as to why the trip placed him in unnecessary danger. He went on and on with statistics, and he was convinced his new delicate and sickly body would be made worse by the experience, and not better, as Ed insisted.

Ed returned to his vacant lobby chair. This far South, towns didn't have a lot of excess funds. They were filled with good simple people, conducting good simple lives, and that was why they had come. That was why they had departed at Awbeziz before returning to Central. Mustang was right; the assignment Ed snapped up was barely an assignment at all. It was a basic delivery assignment Edward abused by covertly slipping the parcel into a post box before catching his train. So suspicious, it was obvious. Edward Elric did not consider himself a mailman, and Mustang knew this stunk of ulterior motives.

Ed sat down and Alphonse continued in step and took the next seat.

"Okay, now we're waiting again," Ed said, using what he considered to be his firm-Alphonse tone. Roy said it sounded like the voice of a new dog owner speaking to their puppy: Nice, but trying to be mean.

"Can I sit with you?" Alphonse asked.

Ed groaned. This was constant routine: _Question, denial, explanation. Question, denial, explanation._ Where we sat, or perhaps better phrased, how we sat, was just one of the many normal activities, Alphonse handled abnormally. For every chair, and every public place, it was posed. "You are, Alphonse," Ed said, droning his words out with dry patience. "These are single seats. One person per chair, stay in yours."

"My skin itches."

"It will be fine."

"My mouth tastes funny, and my tongue hurts."

"Okay, when we get home we'll...do...something about that."

"I want to go." Alphonse slouched down in his chair and tipped his head back. Ed watched. This was the third week, second day, and twenty third hour since Alphonse Elric had regained his flesh body. Edward counted the days. He counted the hours and the seconds, waiting, and hoping against any type of backlash or repercussion to the transmutation that had returned Alphonse. So far there didn't seem to be any.

"Please, can I sit with you?" Alphonse asked.

Other than the skittish way Alphonse regarded real life as it came with the velocity of a baseball bat to his face.

Ed imagined the transmutation peeling Alphonse's metal suit away to reveal a tiny cooing infant with blonde hair. Even though Alphonse had the deceptive physical body of a fourteen-year-old, the body had the mileage of a new born, entirely unused and untraveled.

"Nii-san, please?"

The world was abrasive, an absolute molestation of sensory perception. Alphonse was christening himself with new experiences daily. There was nothing safe, nothing that could be counted upon to be introduced or received well except for the only constant that had every truly existed: EDWARD.

Traveling made Alphonse tired, nearly all foods made him sick, and Ed had more panic attacks than he could stand over the last three weeks. It was time Alphonse's fear of others touching him, was breeched with a doctor. There was only so much Ed could diagnose, and he was beginning to feel a little weird being the only one to poke and prod at his brother.

Ed gave Alphonse a kind smile, and said, "Guess what I have?" He fished into the pocket of his red jacket and Alphonse watched with disinterest. It was doubtful Ed was going to uproot an escape route from the clinic or a two-person chair.

Ed retrieved a small cloth bag and dropped it into his lap with an eager grin.

"Marbles?" Alphonse asked, curiously leaning over the arm rest.

"Nope," Ed said, pulling his gloves off. He dropped both white mitts into his lap and opened the bag. "It's a surprise." Ed opened the top and poured eight solid colored beads into his left palm. "Candy," Ed said, with mild excitement. Roy would have described this as: Puppy-Owner gives puppy treat for the first time. "Try one." Ed extended his hand with excited pleasure to share a new experience, but Alphonse recoiled from the offering. "Go ahead," Ed encouraged.

Alphonse looked nervous, and gave his head a quick shake. "N—no, you first."

"I promise. It won't hurt anything. They feel smooth like a small pebble, and taste sweet like honey." Ed described items now. From sun up to sun down, he found himself describing mundane items to coax Alphonse into experiencing them. Cotton, oatmeal, shampoo, fresh grass, everything. Alphonse was nervous of all of it.

"Okay, but let me see you do it first," Alphonse insisted. With a heavy sigh Ed surrendered yet again. _Alphonse one billion, Ed zero._ Ed selected a red candy and tossed it into his mouth with Alphonse's wide eyes studying every movement. "Is it good?" Alphonse asked. Ed appeared unchanged by the candy, and sat calmly staring back.

"Yup."

"What does it feel like?"

"Like a smooth pebble."

"And tastes like honey?" Alphonse asked, looking back to Ed's open palm with wavering reluctance. "Let me see." Alphonse scooted closer with interest.

Ed remained silent, waiting for Alphonse to elaborate, but Alphonse did not. He leaned closer, eager to witness his request, and Ed could smell the sensitive sweet scented shampoo and soap he had purchased specifically for Alphonse's new body.

After a long pause, Ed asked, "See what?"

"See you eat it."

"I am eating it."

"No, let me see," Alphonse said, gesturing with a quick flutter of his hand toward Ed's mouth. "Open your mouth."

Ed shifted his weight with a bit of discomfort, and glanced reluctantly about the lobby. The single waiting patient was staring, but this was becoming frequently common in Edward's life since Alphonse was, reborn. Humbly, Ed had to acknowledge it was customary for Alphonse to win these rounds, because verbalizing assurances mundane items would not hurt you, did not equate a guarantee in the eyes of Alphonse Elric. He lived with the sense of wearing his organs on the outside, and was obsessed with the effect of every external variable on his new, very fatal self. When you cut to the heart of it, Alphonse was younger in age, but not in intelligence, and he not only trusted his own judgment, he used it.

"This isn't good for your teeth, Nii-san," Alphonse said. "I don't think I should eat something bad for my new teeth and mouth."

With this comment Ed opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue so Alphonse could see the small red candy. It sat in the middle slowly dissolving and staining Ed's mouth.

Alphonse stared at the melting candy with intense fascination before whispering, "Slow to dissolve, probably layered glucose with different rates of," but Ed interrupted this thought, closing his mouth, narrowing his gaze into a challenging look, and thrusting his open palm forward.

"Do it," Ed said. Alphonse cringed, withdrawing away from Ed's hand and into his chair. "Alphonse, do it."

"I don't want it to change the pigment of my flesh." Alphonse sounded moderately alarmed. "It's discoloring your mouth, Nii-san."

"It will fade."

Their name was called by a nurse, and Ed was out of his chair in a flash. Balling a handful of Alphonse's shirt into a tight grasp, Ed took after her with Alphonse fumbling in argument and footing.

"Nii-san? Nii-san maybe I—Nii-san I really don't want to be here," Alphonse whispered. "It's so unhealthy."

The clinic was small, with only four patient rooms. The nurse led them to the third and Ed hesitated in the doorway, with Alphonse a pair of fourteen-year-old cat claws digging into his eighteen-year-old waist, before stomping in. _How stupid we look._

The exam room was cramped. An old kitchen hutch had been transformed into a cabinet of medical supplies, and aside from a simple wooden chair and old exam table, it was the only piece of furniture. Compared to Central's elite equipment and funding, Ed was bombarded with muddled guilt dragging Alphonse away from world-class professionals to a backwater small-town hack, was arguably too irresponsible to defend. The merciless sterile hive of competition bred in Central's specialists, and worse, impatient military clinicians, offered top of the line care, but they lacked something the country had to offer, and Ed felt the word for it was wholesome. How that translated into medicine, and trying to decide what was best for Alphonse while understanding the equation sacrificed quality for something emotional, was just about as fucking murky as everything else, and that was what Mustang heard on the phone: INDECISION. _These last few days, you haven't much sounded like you know what you're doing, Fullmetal._

The nurse left with a kind departure and directions for Alphonse to peel down to his shorts. Ed was glad she was gone, and exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding while looking over the available medical supplies with skepticism. _They weren't impressive, but they were clean._

Alphonse was not interested in the room, and cried out, "They want me to be in my underwear!"

Ed turned to Alphonse with a scolding expression. "Don't act surprised. We've had physicals before." He grasped the bottom of Alphonse's shirt, and lifted it quickly.

Alphonse was engulfed, and called a protesting, "but!" from inside. He cooperated, and with a final yank he popped free. "But that was back with my real body!"

"This is your real body, Alphonse," Ed snapped. Alphonse's words were a brick to a cracked window. _It wasn't easy to make bodies. It wasn't god damn easy, and we had made one!_ Ed lifted his tone with agitation, and repeated, "This is your new real body."

Involuntarily Alphonse stiffened, went mute with Ed's abrupt anger, and Ed felt this response like a slap. He closed his eyes and released a guilty breath of self-scolding. _Don't yell at him, you heartless shit._ Since the transmutation it felt like days were longer than they used to be, and sleep was never enough. "I'm sorry," Ed said, opening his eyes and giving Alphonse an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to yell."

"You don't know what it's like," Alphonse said defensively. Ed gave a humble nod. _No, he didn't know what it was like._ _He only knew what it was like to be responsible._ Four years inside a metal cell was something he still couldn't wrap his head around, even though he had been at Alphonse's side every day.

"This is very hard, Nii-san," Alphonse said, tone firm with unwavering conviction. "I don't feel good, I'm really sick." That was a drastic understatement. Alphonse wasn't sick as if with flu, he was struggling to live as if with plague. From the moment he returned, things were a disaster. He was a fetus deprived years of acclimation, and without the immunities, coordination, and experience, he lived at the physical age a mother wouldn't take her newborn from the house. _Not into that weather, not into that disease, how reckless!_ The baby could die. Grow sick, grow infected, from exposure, lose the battle, and pass.

"I know you don't feel good," Ed said softly. "I know."

"You don't know."

Ed dropped his gaze. "You're right, I don't know, but I'm trying." Feeling awkward and almost desperate, Ed reached forward and grasped Alphonse's gaunt shoulders. _There was no body fat._ The curve of Alphonse's bones felt polished under his skin. Crafting something malnourished from a transmutation circle seemed impossible when adding the nourishments into the ingredient pile, but a powder of periodic dust apparently wasn't the same as a lifetime of steak dinners, and they were desperately trying to build Alphonse's frail weight.

"You're really going to have to use your memories for this, understand, Al?" Ed asked, nervous this just wasn't possible. Alphonse relied on his memories to translate the onslaught of sensory data his brain was lapsing. Ed imagined this would be much like a drowning victim trying to remember what air was like in order to breath: _suffocating._

"It's hard to always be remembering while I'm in the present," Alphonse said. When things were calm, Alphonse knew he was now an unintentional burden on his brother. He could see that Ed was tired, but it was hard to understand why some bouts of life came with cognitive clarity and others were smog filled pandemonium. _The water filling your lungs was hard to meditate past._ "I don't think I have the resilience needed to be in such a germ infested place like this, Nii-san. Imagine what a disease would do to this body right now."

Ed was imagining this, and it had driven him here. "Just use your memories, Al. You're going to be okay. I'll help you undress." Alphonse watched Ed carefully unbutton his pants because Ed's fingers were so much better at handling small buttons than his were.

"I…do remember this," Alphonse confessed. He remembered the single doctor in Resembool and getting his physical at Ed's side when Ed had all four limbs. "From when we were younger, going together." Ed felt common ground form, and the stress of not knowing where to stand passed by. "Nii-san, let's do it like that while this is so new."

"Do what?"

"Get a physical together."

Ed felt a rush of awkwardness, and it seized his expression like the response to a bad smell. Alphonse was as ravenously curious about his new body as he was fascinated by it. The thought of giving him a fully matured specimen, and being that matured specimen, surpassed the barely tolerable eeriness Ed tried to endure when Alphonse was visually crawling up and down his own suggestion was frightening to Ed, and Alphonse saw it right away.

"Nii-san," Alphonse scolded. "Don't make me do this alone, I don't want to!"

Ed began shaking his head, and rambled off a fast, "Yeah, but I already had my physical! Now stop messing around, Al. Get this stuff off!" Ed dropped to his knees at Alphonse's feet, and began untying Alphonse's boots with the weight of Alphonse's miserable frown resting on the crown of his head like a stone.

"Think I'm messing around in my new body?" Alphonse's sarcasm was cruel since his rebirth. "Think all this, fever running, and vomiting, is me just messing around?" But the anger faded quickly for trifling concerns. "This is so unfair!" Ed groaned, and shucked Alphonse's right boot off. "You force me to unskilled medical care, in an unsanitary environment, and won't subject yourself to the same treatment!"

"This has nothing to do with that."

"This is a dual standard, Nii-san. I don't want to do this, but I have to, you don't want to do this, so you don't!"

Ed yanked Alphonse's second boot off, with his metal hand hovering about Alphonse's hip to guarantee there would be no loss of balance, and returned to his first argument. _The only one he had._ "But I already had my physical!"

"That's irrelevant!"

Without the boots Alphonse's unfastened pants dropped to his ankles, and his legs looked like two skeletal stalks overrun with poison oak. His skin was red, sore, slightly blistered in some areas, and incredibly bruised. After the transmutation Alphonse had looked like a burn victim, pink and in pain. His skin could not handle the denudation, and life was cruel. All water and air burning or freezing, all surfaces skin-ripping, flesh-peeling, muscle-scraping, agony. This was largely unknown while Alphonse dipped in and out of consciousness under exhaustion, and quickly learned directly after.

With Alphonse quivering on the couch wrapped in a blanket, Ed felt as if the world inside him was combusting outward and splattering his nervous system as it went. What could you do in this type of condition? Where did you get help when you were supposed to be the one in charge? Couldn't go to a hospital, or emergency room. _Here, can you look at him? I made him, and I really fucked the whole process up._

Havoc had been there, standing mute somewhere between shock and distress, and Ed remembered talking, and yelling, and screaming, but didn't remember a single thing he'd said. Havoc used the word ballistic, but the event came to a stop after several crucial events. The least important being Ed's emptying of Havoc's emergency vodka flask, the moderate being Mustang's arrival, and the crucial being Hawkeye's unexpected intelligence.

Roy had been a disappointed scolding voice penetrating Ed's drunken carousel. He criticized in a fury with lots of words that sounded the same, _irresponsibility, stupidity, naivety,_ and Ed remembered agreeing, but his mouth couldn't communicate how he felt like he was going to explode. How his head was pounding so hard he couldn't manage a single thought aside from the one paralyzing fear that Alphonse was going to die. _That Alphonse was dying_ , and he was begging, BEGGING, for that to go away. That he hadn't emptied the flask by accident thinking he might be tipsy, he had emptied it as a desperate broken person looking to get completely hammered and black out in escape, and there was no part of him that was proud of this, and there was all of him that was embarrassed by himself, but even still, he was scared shitless to go back to being sober.

Hawkeye's arrival was coincidental. She had left the office, stopped home to change into more appropriate mufti, and grabbed a baked ziti. She wasn't Mustang's escort and she wasn't his keeper, despite popular office rumor. She showed up at the door, and went to Alphonse without sympathy, but in greeting. _Welcome back you,_ and while they were arguing she emptied an entire bottle of lotion onto Alphonse's arm, and sent Havoc to the pharmacy for supplies. She changed Alphonse's life from unbearable to manageable within the hour, and Alphonse was so grateful he hugged her in slow motion.

Alphonse wrapped his arms about her with such tender care and anticipation Ed felt himself blushing. For a moment, Hawkeye became Riza, and she melted into Alphonse's adoration, enjoying the hug and closing her eyes. The intimacy made Ed uncomfortable, and when she disengaged and went to him, arms opening, it was almost unbearable. He was wire hard because it felt incredibly humbling to be on the receiving end of something so honestly kind.

"I don't want you to be scared with the doctor," Ed said, kneeling at Alphonse's feet. Alphonse's messy hair was cut short and spiking up from his head in every which way. He stepped free of his pants and took a deep breath as his body adjusted in temperature. The lack of clothing pronounced his almost dehydrated appearance, and the look of it became concerning, and placed Alphonse's skin discoloration at a sad second. The scrawny, bone ridden vessel with the rib cage almost entirely visible, and the pelvic bone seeming enlarged in Alphonse's tiny waist, made him look more like a shriveled corpse than something healthy and growing.

 _But he is growing,_ Ed's mind whispered, when his heart rate picked up, and he realized that one fear, that one really big fear, was starting to quietly chant in the back of his mind: he might die, he might die, he might die.

 _Can't just put him back in a suit of armor if that happens, now can we, asshole._

"You'll be fine, Al. You know what you're doing, and it's all the same as it was. He'll look in your eyes, and ears, and mouth, and stuff."

Alphonse looked offended with the string of impending investigations. "Nii-san, my ears are really sensitive." What an understatement _._ "Nii-san, all of me is really sensitive, what am I going to do? How am I going to do this?"

"It won't be so bad." How the hell did we know what it would be gave a quick uncertain shrug. "And I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

Alphonse's expression contorted with appalled disgust, and the dramatic curvature of his mouth made his head look more like a skull than Ed was comfortable with. "You're leaving the room?" Alphonse asked, tone entirely accusatory.

"What?"

Alphonse pointed to the door in anger, and added, "You're leaving me alone in here!" Ed began to manage the word, well, when Alphonse cried, "No way, Nii-san! I don't want that! You can't leave me unsupervised!"

"Well, I can't stay in here with you!" Ed said quickly. It felt like the walls were closing in. "Al, that's weird. It's embarrassing."

"Why is it embarrassing? I was there when you had your military physicals!"

"You were in the armor!" Ed gestured to Alphonse's skeleton body as if the massive metal plating was still there. "And it's not like you watched all of it, you weren't there for everything!"

"Yes I was."

"Fine!" Ed said, running a hand through his hair. "I can't have this argument. I can't stay in the room, that's not…" and there he trailed off, because no word felt right. Not appropriate? He was the guardian, weren't he? Not normal? What part of this was normal? Not necessary? Not relevant? Not important? It was all fucking necessary, and relevant, and important, and it was all so fucking hypocritical that now, now, he would leave his battered kin in a room with a stranger while sick and uncomfortable, but at home, at home there was no line in the sand. At home he was _everything_. Mother, father, brother, doctor, everything.

Alphonse was silent, but he wasn't stupid, not entirely, and not consistently, and his golden eyes strung a banner in all capital letters: SELFISH.

Ed's flesh palm fled to his face for some frantic scrubbing. Alphonse wasn't disturbed with the idea of them staying together like Ed was disturbed, because Alphonse was mentally living somewhere else for the time being. Under a magistrate of flu like symptoms he was deprived the commonplace pleasure of life's small luxuries because sleeping and eating were a dreaded chore. Food was a painful donation to a confused stomach, and sleep caused muscles to tighten and loosen, so parts locked up, and things leaked out. He was joining humanity for small intermittent periods of interaction and comprehension, between stomach-twisting retching, body-orifice-bleeding, sight-blurring, mouth-drying, hair falling out, mother-fuckery, and you want to leave him alone like this? You're not man enough to hold your own while your brother might be naked in front of a medical professional? That makes you feel funny? That makes you feel squeamish? And so you're going to leave him in here like a pussy? You candy-ass punk!

"What am I going to do," Ed groaned, speaking into his palm. The question was as general as it could get. _What am I going to do about everything,_ but Alphonse answered it.

"You're going to stay in here with me, Nii-san." Alphonse was soothed with this idea because the fear of complication and damage to his body so far outweighed bashfulness for anything intimate his new vessel might do, it wasn't even an afterthought. "I know something is happening," Alphonse said, tone going soft, because sometimes he knew when he was failing. "You're thinking something, and I can't really understand it at the moment, but Nii-san," Alphonse grabbed Ed's flesh bicep, and his fingers felt like tiny bone poles, "if anything happens that's important, I may not be able to remember it." And that was the kicker. That when you were the one hurling, when you were the one bleeding, when you were the one going blind, and falling down, and leaking, you couldn't keep track of everything else, so in the end, you couldn't understand it if no one else did.

It was reality, and reality was a horror. Alphonse's intellect and manner of articulation commonly remained at pinprick accuracy even while deranged with agony from the meat of his bones. It was always the trade of one evil for another. Nausea for diarrhea, fevers for nose bleeds, the worst for the semi-better, or the miserable for the awful. _Product of your hands again. Whose bright idea was this?_

 _Yours Ed, it was yours._

"Staying in the room," Ed said softly, "doesn't mean I have a physical."

Alphonse's gaze narrowed suspiciously, brain moving slowly, so slowly. _Nii-san looks…uncomfortable about…something…_

"Alphonse, we're not five anymore, things are different now. You shouldn't want me in here."

"But I do want you in here," Alphonse said, nodding enthusiastically. "I want you to make sure he doesn't break my new body."

"Oh, fuck-me." Ed tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He regretted every moment he'd brought Alphonse's armored body with him for his military appointments. It wasn't meant to sound cruel, but with Alphonse in the armor, he carried a human indifference that made his presence appropriate where another human was not. Like a small dog, no one minded if he joined, because it just wasn't the same, and now Ed didn't have a leg to stand on. "Al, you're older now." Ed decided to start like this. "So, it's…not the…and well…" Ed stuffed his hands into his pockets feeling the need to fidget. He righted his head with a drained and exhausted expression. "So it would be odd." Alphonse was listening closely, with a look of perplexed confusion Ed's communication was a delayed fumbling mess. As scientists they were forward, trenchant, and fact-based, but this was the lapsed and repetitive dribble of a fool.

"Nii-san, what are you trying to say?" Alphonse asked impatiently.

"I'm just trying to say, that now that things are different, it would be odd to have another person in the room. Things are more private now, that's, that's what I'm trying to say, more private."

"I don't want privacy!" Alphonse sounded scared. "I think privacy would be inhibiting to us here, and I am not embarrassed! I need you to stay, one of us needs to know what's going on! Nii-san, you look at me all the time!"

Ed panicked. "Don't say it like that!" Hearing it put this way made Ed feel flighty with guilt and nervousness. "That is the wrong way to say it, Alphonse. I look, with you, for deformities." They weren't doing anything inappropriate, but it was easy to make it seem like they were.

"Is this," Alphonse grabbed at his temples, as if focusing this hard was difficult. "Is this, are you meaning to say, that you actually are embarrassed with this?"

Ed felt a near blush form, and fought it off. "No, why would I be embarrassed?" Armored-Alphonse never would have swallowed these pathetic lies. "I'm in great shape. I'm in impeccable fucking shape, Al. I'm completely comfortable. I make the military fucking quiver with my metrics."

"Well good," Alphonse sounded relieved if not a bit annoyed. "That means you're staying."

Roy described Alphonse as psychotic, but Ed felt strangely reassured and damned each time Alphonse talked him into a trap the way his younger brother always could. Without a strong defense Ed stood cringing. He felt powerless against Alphonse's needs. Abandoning the room felt like treachery. _And how could you criticize what you'd caused._

"I'm not certain of this doctor's medical credentials, or why you think he's qualified to even look at me, and I'm having a hard time identifying normality. This is really awful of you, leaving me with strangers when it's not certain I'll be able to accurately report," Alphonse said, complaining to himself. "It makes this torture pointless."

"This is not pointless," Ed said, feeling defeated. "This is your entire bill of health, Al. It's all of you. I think I'm out of my league." _Mustang could also hear this over the phone._

"We don't have that luxury, Nii-san. Together we're going to have to think of something. I can't last in this infantile conditioning."

That was Ed's term, and it was meant to be honest and not cruel. Slouched into his living room couch on the phone, Ed had confided to Mustang his head felt like the drum section of the largest orchestra, and described Alphonse's new state as, the infantile conditioning of all flesh and systems.

Roy had been in one of his rare listening moods, and was home cooking and letting Ed ramble on in confidence. He could hear that Ed needed someone to talk to, and Ed could feel that he desperately needed someone to listen so it felt less like he and Alphonse were alone through this. The next day Hawkeye had visited with a lasagna, and Ed knew that after their call Roy had phoned her.

"Okay fine," Ed conceded." I will stay in the room, got it? I will stay in the room, but I'm not, get this clear, not, having a physical with you."

Ten minutes later the doctor entered after a soft knock. The man fit the bill of a small town physician: kind and weathered, to be uncanny at diagnosing the common, but stumped by the evolved. He entered with a greeting smile, and pausing with confusion when he met two blonde boys waiting in their boxers. Glancing between them he looked at his single chart and read the only listed name. "Alphonse Elric?"

"We're going together!" Alphonse announced. Thin as a rail and several inches shorter than Ed, Alphonse was hiding almost entirely behind Ed's larger soldier body and intimidating metal appendages.

"I know this is a bid odd," Ed said quickly, feeling like a jack-ass. "But he's skittish and we're brothers, so we're just going to have our physicals together if you can accommodate. We'll pay for two appointments, it won't be a problem."

The doctor was quiet, and shut the door behind him pointing inquisitively to Alphonse, and Ed nodded.

"Yes, I'm Alphonse Elric, me," Alphonse said, looping his arm about Ed's automail and latching on tight. "But my brother is staying, this is my brother, Edward."

* * *

Welcome welcome, and hope you enjoyed!

This is a completed multi-chapter story, kicking off today to brighten your holidays! Chapter One Part Two will be posted this Friday 11/25/16, with the remaining eighteen chapters posted biweekly Friday evening (EST).

For those of you who have read my stuff before, and know my style, I allow few adjustments to my posting schedule, with the only exception my international holiday travel. To my common readers, it's great to be here! To new guests, humbled to have you. This should be a fun and adventurous ride. This story is a bit AU, written after I saw FMA 2003, but before I saw Brotherhood. It falls somewhere between, with the concept of Ed returning Alphonse to a body via a transmutation rather than the manga/Brotherhood end. Starts a bit slow and careful, but be patient, once the momentum is in full swing, you'll get the action and intensity I can't help but write.

Chapter One Part Two: _Fourteen Year Old Fetus_ , will be posted Friday 11/25/16  
Chapter Two: _Military Sabotage,_ will be posted Friday 12/09/16

I look forward to seeing you – please review.

Author's Note Added 02/05/17:  
Addressing the Common Question of Where This Story Falls in the FMA Timeline and with FMA Material

I enjoy writing, and even when I write fanfiction, borrowing the canon data so beautifully created by another…I can't help what happens when it goes in, and comes back out, the filter that is me. Since I've been writing FMA for a while now, I have unintentionally given birth to my own FMA Alternate Universe, and my FMA stories all take place there. This is the byproduct of writing so many FMA pages, covering almost ten years of Edward's life.

This Author's Note it meant to clarify this detail, so those of you looking for additional clarification of where this story falls, can now know…it exists in the Alternate Universe from my own head - lol, I'm so sorry about this! However, if you've enjoyed this chapter, or any of my stories, you're already visited this place, and just didn't know it! I have no plans for mass deviation from canon material, my AU simply includes tiny details, character preferences, and small deviations from cannon plotline as I started writing FMA before Brotherhood, and have never read the manga, and for this reason, my AU was born in, or within the limbo, following the first anime, which left you kinda hanging.

So in short, I write two versions of the character Edward Elric, and the resulting world in which he lives.

My Primary Universe begins with, "The Big Bang Theory," holds a collection of Oneshots from Edwards preteen and teen years, such as, "Hazing, Office Conduct, Say What, The Art of Spelling, (all the ones I haven't yet posted), etc.," continues here with, "Board of Squares," and continues forward in, "Arsenal of Jewels," which is in progress now.

I also run a Secondary Universe in which Edward is homosexual, which starts with, "Foolish For You," includes the oneshot, "Christmas," and an isolated Germany piece meant to continue where the first anime ended, titled, "The Silent Heart."

Everything I write for FMA will continue to align to either my Primary or Secondary AU because when you write a character long enough (yours, or borrowed), they develop with you, and my Edward Elric, while largely true to his canon design, also has parts of him that was born, raised, and tended, only by me.

This is odd to explain, I know, also I always feel it comes off really pretentious, but I've been over worrying about what any reader is judging me for long ago, so here it is, black and white. I hope this clarifies. As many of you may remember, from long ago when FMA had only one anime, an incomplete manga, gasoline was less than two dollars, and we all listened to cassette tapes XD, Alphonse was still in his armor, and there were many of us who wanted him to get out.


	2. Fourteen Year Old Fetus Part Two

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter One Part Two  
 _Fourteen-Year-Old Fetus_

\- mirage–

The doctor handled this oddity with a momentary mute stare and blank expression. He lifted his hand and pointed at Ed, while asking in a flat monotone voice, "Edward Elric?"

Ed nodded, and waited to see if the man would ask any of the obvious questions. _Aren't you the Fullmetal Alchemist? The famous, well paid, Fullmetal Alchemist with resources much better than my hovel of an office? Why would you not have the military handle this sort of thing?_ , but the doctor continued with a candid tone, and said, "I can have the nurse put together the papers to do an annual physical for you as well, if that's what you'd like." He crossed the small room and set Alphonse's folder on the shelf of the old kitchen hutch.

"Actually, I've already had my annual physical with the state. This is more for his comfort level than...any real medical necessity," Ed said. The old man slid his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The action looked how Ed felt: exhausted with the unnecessary complication of it all. "We really appreciate your understanding here." Ed did his best to remain polite.

"Nii-san, you could always have another physical. You can just see the doctor twice. That's good, really really healthy actually."

Ed closed his eyes with his patience wearing like a shield held before him. Every obstacle, and every word, was a swing he took and blocked, and there was only so much you could do until the recoil began to bother you. "The military already did, Alphonse," Ed said, lowering his voice to a crisp angry tone. "I don't need this put in my file. The military is not going to like me getting other people's opinions." Ed turned back to the doctor with a frustrated exhale. "If you could focus on him please, he hasn't had a physical in…" _fourteen years. Anatomically speaking, Alphonse hadn't had one in fourteen years_ "…in a...few years, so it would be good if he had one."

The doctor looked to Alphonse with interest, and nervously Alphonse stepped from behind Ed. His introduction washed a look of abject concern across the old man's demeanor, and his hands lifted quickly, stuffing his glasses back on, mouth cranking in an attempt to speak.

Ed saw the outburst coming, and dropped one of Mustang's favorite expressions. He had grown up hearing it, because it was the expression Mustang used when people wanted to talk about the Fullmetal Alchemist, and how age appropriate they thought Mustang's orders were.

"Let's keep this professional," Ed said, tone boldly confident. He followed his statement with a slow meaningful nod, because this statement meant something in the adult world. It meant: Yes, we're on the same page, but I am in charge, and although you have opinions, I don't want to hear them, and I don't need to.

Ed extended his hand in the manner of an introduction. "We appreciate you seeing us." The doctor didn't move, and Ed left his outstretched hand waiting. "We'll be leaving shortly, and you'll probably forget all about us." He smiled, friendly, but dangerous. It didn't matter he was half dressed, and making requests, he was going to be the one in charge, and going to make it clear what that meant. "Aren't you going to shake my hand?" He wore his smile like a mask. "It's rude."

The Doctor surrendered. Nervous and looking uncomfortable, he gave Ed's hand a shake. "I am Doctor Alman." It was clear he was disturbed with what he was seeing, but he was behaving like a small town actor under big town guns, and that was what Ed was hoping for. _A situation he could control_. There was no easy way to introduce Alphonse into the medical world. The sight of him brought the insurgent response of a victim in need of immediate attention because Alphonse was hurting. It was plainly visible, and a true care giver could not idly look on.

Doctor Alman gently extended his hand to Alphonse, and not wanting to touch unnecessarily, Alphonse managed a limp jittery shake that ended as quickly as it began.

"Young man," Doctor Alman said, staring at Alphonse with deep solicitude. "What happened to you?"

"That's not something we need to discuss," Ed answered firmly. "Conduct your exam, we need as detailed a report as you can give us without any lab work being done." Doctor Alman was speechless. Looking frightened and inhibited by the constraint. "We'll leave shortly," Ed reassured again. "And we appreciate it."

Voice a bit faint, Doctor Alman said, "Let me just," he adjusted his glasses, "get some…things…" _Where did you start with this bag of bones with large golden eyes?_

Alphonse began shaking his head. "No, same time, please do us at the same time." Alphonse gestured quickly between himself and Ed.

"Al, he can't do us at the same time, he's only one man."

"Then you first, Nii-san." Alphonse stepped back and positioned Ed like a protective wall between himself and the doctor. "We have to be careful. We don't know how my body will respond. Our research has told us this much at least, and I don't want him touching it right away. What if he does something!"

"Okay, yes, fine!" Ed lifted a finger to his lips before stopping the motion short. They needed to end unnecessary self-incriminating chit-chat. "Less talking, yes, me first, that's fine, just let's not, have a lot of conversation, okay?"

Ed stepped forward, and beckoned for Doctor Alman to begin. He offered the man's cautious vacant stare a polite reassuring smile. Doctor Alman's vacillating mannerisms suited Ed just fine. He didn't care if he was seen as a bull, as long as they could be in and out quick. It was important they return to Central by nightfall because the idea of keeping Alphonse out any longer, or God forbid, trying to hold up in a hotel, made Ed sick.

Doctor Alman took a pen light from his jacket pocket and began with Ed's mouth and tonsils. The man moved quickly, conducting a formality, with short impetuous glances at Alphonse's sickly body. It was clear to everyone but Alphonse he was lucratively satisfying demands to complete phase one so he could reach the much desired phase two: _The one that looked as if they were dying._

Alphonse responded to Ed's evaluation with intense childlike curiosity. He moved closer for a better look, circled for multiple angles, and in an involuntary and distracted manner, shadowed Ed's movements as if hypnotized.

Ed tolerated this with mounting older-sibling annoyance until he couldn't anymore. Then in a flat and harsh tone, he said, "Stop it." It was punishing to explain Alphonse's physical condition. Granting testimony to Alphonse's inconsistent mental status was something Ed wasn't confident he could talk his way out of. Imprisoned in the armor, Alphonse had retained his natural level-headed personality, but inside his new rotting-prune body, that wasn't consistently true. The spontaneity of which he became unrecognizable, and broke into a scatterbrained frenetic person was at odds with the crippling joy of having him returned. There seemed to be no pattern, no routine. While healthy Alphonse was sometimes like himself, and sometimes quite clearly not, and it sowed Ed's chastening guilt, because it felt much like transferring him from a metal coffin to a flesh one. The suit of armor we picked had been no good, and somehow, our second attempt had not done much better. _Strike two, idiot._

Doctor Alman didn't need instruction to see this as well. He flew through the basics of a standard physical and all but abandoned Ed after obtaining blood pressure. He rushed to Alphonse the way one with a defibrillator might a convulsing patient because that was how he saw Alphonse's slender hundred pound body: victim to arrest.

Alphonse was horrified by the attention. He latched himself to Ed's flesh arm, and broke into verbal campaign as to why his ears probably did not need to be looked at, and his mouth could be skipped, and his glands ignored.

"Alphonse, you can't skip all those things!" Ed said, wiggling from Alphonse's grip. "That's the whole exam! That's skipping the whole exam!" He hent Alphonse's shoulders with commanding force, nervous, because Alphonse's coordination, like everything else, was not all there. Something inserted could scrape, pull, or scratch Alphonse's sensitive body if he tried to flee prematurely. If he went loony the way a mental patient did, screaming nonsense and flailing. _And he was going to protect Alphonse from that. Protect Alphonse from himself if he had to._

"Nii-san, careful, you're going to hurt me! Don't touch my clavicle!"

"I'm not going to hurt you. Stay still so you're safe! You're moving around too much!"

Alphonse was flinching with nervousness, and Doctor Alman was paralyzed with grave concern. He stared on, watching Ed secure Alphonse in the technique of a soldier, before softly saying, "Maybe we should take a break." It did not seem reasonable they could continue with the young boy terrified and squirming. There needed to be interception. "It might be good if you and I speak for a moment."

"We're not speaking for a moment," Ed said, tone ruthless with frustration. "I don't leave this room, and you don't leave this room. Now continue the exam. That's why we're here, that's what we're paying you for." Ed turned a dark glare on the man, because Doctor Alman was teetering with indecision. Harnessed only by the uncertain consequences if he took action, and Ed pounced on this weakness. "I didn't wander in here by accident, old man" Ed said, lowering his tone to something frightening. With minimal effort he could destroy this room, this clinic, this doctor, and he put that into his voice. He pushed his power and strength forward like venom, because he might have been tired, and he might have felt defeated in many aspects of life, but combat was not one of them. He could attack like one bad mother, and that would be the consequence. _Go, ahead,_ his gaze said, _cross me and fucking find out what happens._

Doctor Alman hesitated. He was morally against the way Ed's larger hands and body seemed to blanket Alphonse in force, and began to speak with a soft, "I should," that Ed interrupted with a tone as hard as stone.

"I'd stop wondering what you should do, and start doing what I tell you." It set the parameters of a fight. "We can be in and out." This was option one. "Fast and easy." The preferred option. "All you have to do, is what you're supposed to do." It was option two no one wanted. "We keep things nice." Option two where things became, less favorable. "I want to keep things, nice." Ed gestured between them without releasing Alphonse from his hold. "Understand?" Alphonse nodded in support, and the old man fell into a silent pause no one interrupted.

It lingered, with everyone staring at everyone, and the weight of the room's tension coming to settle carefully, like dust. It went on long enough to disarm, had there been actual weapons, and then Doctor Alman's gaze left Ed, and moved sympathetically to Alphonse.

"I understand." Doctor Alman stepped forward. Not in abject submission, cowering servitude, or with the false attention he'd given to Ed's healthy body. Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and gently took Alphonse's sore hands in a grip too light to trap a fly, and in a tone ever so kind, whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you," and there was nothing but absolute sincerity in his voice.

Ed stalled, caution wilting. He'd been counting on a cliché humdrum country doctor he could easily oppress. His intimidating title and mighty certification the antidote to any risk, but this humanity was break-squealing. It raised a mirror. _What are you doing?_ And Ed floundered on sight of himself. _Look at yourself! This isn't who you are!_ He had been ready to break this man. Be cruel, unforgiving, or impulsive if that was what they needed, _what Alphonse needed,_ and the unexpected compassion swarmed him with humiliation. His grip on their situational command slipped, not entirely, because scrutiny was a threat, but in a tired way, eagerly, because it was hard to always keep your fists clenched, and easy to respect someone you'd tried to mercilessly bully when they handed you nothing but charity.

Doctor Alman looked to his equipment, unsettled with the restraints on his work. "I should really look at him," he said to Ed. "He's in great need of care." Ed could hear the man's desire. This was where blood would be taken, urine would be taken, considering Alphonse's body, a few other samples, but Ed had made it the clear they weren't handing over samples, because they weren't handing over evidence, and he couldn't concede. His precarious position strung itself out in a variable equation like beads. The largest was the END, and the smallest were the MEANS, and just like the day Alphonse had opened his eyes while lying in a puddle of chemically made afterbirth and clearing steam, Ed remembered he was going to have to do whatever he needed to do to protect his brother. _You owned what you made._

"It's not an option." Ed resumed command quickly. There was to be no discussion. There was to be no evidence. If he had to, he would spit on this kind doctor, and his own shame was not going to come before Alphonse. "We're just having a basic exam. You don't need to do any tests, because he doesn't have the symptom for them." The lie was so outlandish Ed tightened his hand on Alphonse's shoulder to silence possible outcry. At home, Alphonse listed symptoms as if he were reading text from a medical dictionary: Nii-san, my lymphatic system doesn't feel as if it's transferring correctly. The circulation in my fingers feels wrong, I think my blood might be clotting. I'm having impaired vision, with halos and spots. My chochlea is aching, I have sensorineural hearing loss. My stomach is swelling and distended. _If the Doctor asked Alphonse for symptoms, they would never leave. They would never be able to explain them, and they would never leave this man's office._ "You'll have to make do."

And that was the truth. With the despondency of a man at gunpoint attempting muscle-memory on a common routine, Doctor Alman took to a slow delicate investigation of Alphonse's body. He did not need to be as gracious as he was, and he did not need to roll over as easily as he had, but he was dedicated, and he was WHOLESOME.

Alphonse cooperated without manic protest, but followed all directions with immense hesitation and uncertainty. He grew tired quickly, and Ed noticed. Alphonse's right eye began to squint and operate unfavorably, and Ed knew Alphonse's vision was probably going blurry on that side. _So far the occipital lobe appeared undamaged, so we had to hope this was temporary. Recovering like everything else._

The exam wouldn't do more than find an obvious catastrophe, and suggest ailment for the rest, and Ed knew this.

Doctor Alman knew it too, and it seemed the root of his depression, but he continued on. Alphonse was moved to the exam table, and in disquieted vigil, allowed Doctor Alman to palpate his stomach.

Almost immediately upon regaining consciousness Alphonse had grown nauseous, and it gave the sensation of everything unraveling to slide out.

"Nii-san, my organs don't feel swollen," Alphonse said with relief. Doctor Alman's foreign touch felt like stroking bristles of an old broom raking his stomach. The pads of the man's fingers were abrasive bark, and Alphonse wiggled when a few slipped over his bladder. His eyes flittered to Ed's governing expression of concentration, and he thought about how Ed's hands felt different, felt safe, and how scientifically that had nothing to do with the make of them.

"Even my kidneys," Alphonse said, "Which you were really worried about." Ed gave a nod, eager for the exam to end, but Doctor Alman paused, unintentionally and briefly, and it was as powerful as marking a ledger. _The man was heedfully listening._

Ed wished he could telekinetically signal Alphonse that their incriminating divulgation of clues and routines was like slowly threading a noose, but the link between their minds seemed to have dissolved like everything else about Alphonse's body.

"I guess together we're taking good care of this dermis vessel after all," Alphonse added, sounding pleased. Doctor Alman stopped. "Everything you've done, has been good, Nii-san." He was oblivious to the way Doctor Alman's gaze lifted with something of accusatory fear, and Ed's steeled into a piercing threat.

Their silence that of two people locked in the stare of the same idea.

"Let's," Ed said, keeping a passive tone, "stop talking for a bit now, Al." He severed his gaze with the Doctor and helped Alphonse off the exam table. Alphonse was agile for someone so malnourished, and managed to his feet sunken into a rather bowed stance, and took to holding his ear as if it needed heat. Ed tried to push pass this with optimism, and said, "We're almost done."

Alphonse did not look reassured, he looked annoyed, but without the slightest bit of hesitation, he followed directions and pushed his shorts off his scrawny waist and waited.

At the beginning, things had started slow. Until suddenly, and seeming all at once, the speed was more of an explosion than acceleration. It went from a headache to epilepsy, stomach cramps to malaria. It went from, let-me-help-you, to, I'm-doing-for-you-not-because-I-can,-but-because you-aren't-able,-and-if-I-don't,-you'll-die.

There was nothing consensual about it. Nothing of foresight, or competency based apprehension. It was absolute utter madness, and it was this chaos, this clutter of lung-squelching panic that told Ed, he needed to bring a doctor in. If for nothing else, than to have a safe medium. We needed the medical knowledge, yes we did, but we needed a socially safe approach as well. Alphonse had come out of the transmutation at age fourteen, and Ed was living as he was at age eighteen, and it was unusual, and awkward for them to be doing some of what they were doing. There was no part of it Ed wanted to share with an outside party, and that gave it the dirty weight of a secret.

He didn't know how to begin to explain. How to begin to even rationalize some of what was going on, and even while only a moderate risk, Doctor Alman was still a prying eye Ed couldn't stand looking directly at him.

Alphonse's temporary shelter of childish ignorance and all around new-flesh-body flimflam, left him immune. Ed felt abandoned. Buried under an ever growing unpropitious future. _The awkward factor just kept tripling._ And he knew it would come down to this level of nudity, to this level of weirdness, and no level of experience or familiarity with Alphonse's exposed body made things decent when you placed a third-party spectator in the room. Humiliation swam into Ed's face, crippling his features, and he crossed his arms over his chest. There was heat trying to leak into his cheeks and it carried a sense of ass-foolish criticism. _Buck up! Deal with it, moron. You knew it was coming to this. You always knew it was._

Alphonse noticed Ed's rigid ill at ease, and looked over with golden pupils like yellow marbles nestled insecurely in his skull.

At once Ed felt the gaze. The questioning, penetrating, thinking, gaze that had come out of the armor in small white light like a ghost, and without a hint of inquiry, Alphonse stated a flat, "You're not doing this part."

Ed closed his eyes with embarrassment. _There was just no way he was stripping down._ He was the closest thing to life in a flesh body Alphonse had, and he refused to claim his older-sibling rights and discuss the trials and accomplishments of puberty to his ignorant younger counterpart. Alphonse wasn't civil when feeling shorthanded on knowledge, he was demanding. His questions were stark, and he wanted details. That type of scrutiny was not something Ed thought he could handle.

Committed to keeping his dick in his pants, and away from young curious eyes, Ed ignored the question, and in a tone Ed could hear from years ago, Alphonse chided, "You're a chicken."

"No," Ed said, voice low, frustrated, and becoming frantic. "I'm losing my mind." Alphonse's silence was displeasure. "You're pushing me over the edge."

"Will you at least watch?" Alphonse meant this as a proctor would to their medical student. He was studying the world, trying to match the sensation of touch to that of sight, and everything felt rudely close. Ed had saved him, but Ed had also reached into his safe armored shell and with a violent metal hand, ripped him out so he stood amongst the elements like a premature fetus, blinking and wet.

 _Something about this life was better because of this, and something about it was worse._

Doctor Alman failed to respond to their dialogue. In this final stage the man was impelled, and didn't stop his exploration. Alphonse's body of peach pit bruises and brown and yellow stains looked starved, beaten, and abused. Trying to understand injury placement and means, Doctor Alman's careful gloved hands were moving about Alphonse's trunk, while Alphonse stared down. Thinking about how not just his body, but specifically his stomach and genitals, had no hair. In contemplation, Alphonse lifted his gaze to Ed, and Ed returned it in a glance of severe annoyance and sibling betrayal, before the thought transferred between them, and Ed knew, as the older brother, he was being used as the expected blueprint, and Alphonse was thinking there should probably be more hair, and hair in specific places, because he had it.

Ed's anger went out immediately, and he gave his head a soft discrete shake. _Please don't let him say anything about this out loud! I can't take it._ The ridiculous gamble of traveling South in a desperate attempted to see an isolated doctor, was just beginning to look like it was going to work! They had almost reached the end of the exam, and Doctor Alman hadn't yet lapsed into maddened hysteria! Apparently Alphonse wasn't lacking ribs, organs, or blood vessels that escaped Ed's line of sight, but stood out as obvious omitted intersections in the roadmap of human anatomy to a trained physician. _We were going to be in the clear, and we were going to leave knowing we were!_ Go home thinking it, smiling about it, feeling uplifted and hopeful that somehow we were going to pull this heist over on Mother Nature, and there was nothing the bitch was going to be able to do about it! _Don't ruin it now, please!_

"Nii-san," Alphonse said, opening a topic as if opening a book.

"Stop right there." Ed slammed the cover shut, staring Alphonse down. "Not a word." Ed closed his eyes feeling overwhelmed and suddenly, slightly nauseous. _What could we say to all these things?_ Why did your fourteen-year-old brother contemplate the make of your naked body? Couldn't say you deprived him of his, and then artlessly let him watch you shower for years while in a suit of armor, that didn't translate. Where did fourteen-year-old brother's body hair go? Couldn't blame that on illegal transmutation, that shit wasn't going to fly.

"Nii-san, don't close your eyes, you need to pay attention."

"Stop talking to me, Alphonse."

Doctor Alman carefully applied a gloved finger, and said, "Gently now, son. So it doesn't hurt you, I need you to cough." _The man was worried coughing might hurt, and why shouldn't he. Who knew what the lungs looked like considering this was the rest._

Alphonse's bony hands were holding his body. His slender incapable palms cradling his right hipbone, and the bottom of his ribcage, as if he were made of puzzle pieces he needed to hold together. This misplaced securing-of-self, as Ed labeled it, was Alphonse's flesh-body response to being undressed, and Ed imagined Alphonse fearing disassembly, like a fruit that could lose its peel. He cooperated, moving when asked, coughing when asked, and yanking his body away from Doctor Alman's latex touch when the man tried to prod the few open thigh blisters, and bit of hemorrhoids, with something of silent horror.

Doctor Alman left Alphonse, and returned to the counter peeling off his gloves. "If there will be no further tests," he said, restrained frustration in his voice, "Much needed tests, you can get dressed, son."

Alphonse knelt down to his shorts hanging onto his groin as if kicked. "Nii-san, this is really unpleasant."

"We're in perfect agreement."

Alphonse slowly pulled his shorts up his legs, wincing, and stopped them low on his hips. "Nii-san, please finish your physical. We'll have lots of my data to analyze, so we mine as well look at yours too. You've been so tired. You look kinda sick." Alphonse was frowning miserably, before adding. "My testicles are really starting to hurt. What if I have a latex allergy?"

Doctor Alman stopped peeling his right glove off with a startled look of shock, but this was Ed's last straw.

Ed went for his pants. Wadding the bulk of his clothing under his arm, and shaking out his pants to climb into them. "No, your new bod—no, you don't have a latex allergy, we would have noticed it!" Ed was fighting into his clothes.

"Are you dressing so you can leave me in here and escape?" Alphonse asked, sounding sullen and convinced.

Ed bit the second of his shirts, and it hung from his teeth while he wiggled into the first and yanked it to his unfastened pants. Alphonse released a heavy burst of air in protest. "Alphonse, I have been a really good sport, but I can't take it anymore," Ed said, words muffled with cotton. Alphonse watched Ed tuck in his shirt and do up his fly, before snatching the cotton dress shirt from his mouth, and shrugging it on. "I'm getting dressed because this is over, we're done, and I'm really uncomfortable right now. Get dressed, let's go."

"It doesn't make you like this at home."

"This is not home!"

"Well it can't be more uncomfortable than how I feel."

"Yes it can." Ed was buttoning his dress shirt at the speed of light.

"No."

"People our age do not get physicals together, and that's for a reason. We needed to get you research study from a medical professional, and that doesn't have anything to do with me."

"My skin's collagen isn't ready for this yet, Nii-san, and here I am, out in the South, surrounded by bacteria, placating your demands for new data from new sources, when I wanted to stay in Central, and you're complaining while you're in relatively good health? You're getting all flustered over the concept of modesty, which we don't even have!"

"Relatively good health, my ass!" Ed pointed at Alphonse's discarded clothing. "I'm in good health, stop saying I'm not!" Ed was yanking his boots on.

"Well you're lucky I can even stand. My new body hates me." Alphonse adjusted himself carefully in his boxers, and wincing added, "My penis really hurts now."

Ed winced when Alphonse spoke the word penis so openly. There was something pedophile about it because to Ed, it had not been a penis in years. Now it was his dick. Mom might have taught them to use the word penis, but he abandoned that as soon as he started setting his own bedtime and running his own life. Alphonse was the only one returning to the physical life he left while too young to even have an erection he enjoyed.

"Okay." Ed went quickly to Alphonse and gathered the boy's clothing from the floor. He pushed them into Alphonse's arms like a peace offering, and said, "No more talking about this now, Al. We have to stop. Yes and no answers only." Just how badly could they forget themselves? Wildly discussing mass taboo while the only card saving them was the idea transmuting a person was perceived to be such absolute fantasy blunt discussion raised no hearty suspicion.

"Unsecure sources at that, Nii-san," Alphonse said bitterly. "Unsecure."

"Later we discuss that," Ed said quickly, pulling Alphonse's shirt from the bundle. "Let's get you dressed, come on, arms up."

Ed glanced to Doctor Alman, delicately guiding Alphonse's tee shirt over his head. The man was standing silent in studious contemplation and seemed to be at permanent rest.

"I'm sorry for all the disruption," Ed said, feeling a bit humiliated with them.

"That's all right," Doctor Alman said softly. "Once he's dressed, if you'd just give me a minute to speak to him, you'll be ready to go. You can step out for a moment of air, the exam is over."

The idea of leaving sounded like heaven to Ed, and Alphonse muttered a miserable, "Thank, God."

* * *

Ed approached the clinic's reception counter where the receptionist sat extending the phone to him. He set it to his ear, and turned away from her, before muttering a soft, "Hello?"

"Where are you right now?" Roy asked dryly.

Ed reached up and slapped his hand to his forehead. "What?" he snapped. "God dammit."

"Where are you right now?" Roy repeated, firming his tone impatiently.

"Do you ask me that just so I have to obediently report to you? Obviously you know damn-well where I am, being as you just called me here!" Ed whispered angrily, gripping the phone with tight agitation, and forcing himself to take a deep calming breath. "I'm in Awbeziz's modest clinic, and I use the word modest politely." He hunched his shoulders closer to the phone trying to obtain some privacy, but standing in the lobby there was no way he could. The room was small, and the three new townsfolk were watching him. "Now, I said I'm not coming in to report until you make it worth my time, and I freaking meant it. Don't call me, I'm busy."

Roy sat at his desk listening to Ed's outburst with a thoughtful stare locked with Hawkeye. "Ed," Roy spoke when Ed silenced. "I have a doctor on the other line requesting a detailed description of your physical appearance. Are you with Alphonse right now?"

"My what?" Ed asked, blindsided.

"Alphonse, I said are you with Alphonse?"

Ed glanced uncomfortably around the lobby. Several of the waiting people had even shifted in their chairs to have a better view of him. "Yeah, I'm with him, why?"

"What's he doing?"

"What do you mean, what's he doing? What's this about, Colonel?" The receptionist had gone to a wall of files behind her, and Ed reached for her, snapping his fingers for attention.

"I have a doctor on line one, who called into Central to verify Edward Elric is a State Alchemist, seek a physical description of Edward Elric, and to speak to his supervisor. To keep you up to speed, Edward Elric is a State Alchemist, and his supervisor is me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ed asked, snapping his fingers aggressively. The young girl looked up from the open file she was reading with a befuddled frown. "Miss, is there someplace else I can take this? This is a private call."

She set the file down and returned to the counter. Ed uprooted his pocket watch and lifted it into view. "I need to take this call somewhere else, where can I?"

"That's the only line we have." She looked at his watch, clueless. The application of it as a bartering chip lost of her.

"Are you freaking kidding me."

"Ed, pay attention when I'm talking to you." Roy grew irritated with the distraction.

Ed fumed. He ripped the receiver from his ear and gave it an angry shake wishing he could ring Mustang's neck. "This is your fault for calling me in a public place! I'll call you back!" Ed reached over the reception counter and slammed the phone into its receiver before storming for the door.

Outside he dialed Central while trying to merge with the small phone booth. Mustang was not happy with how the last call went and let the phone ring thirteen times before picking up and remaining silent.

"Okay, what did you call me for?" Ed asked, impatient, and trying to ignore the guilty tickle that infected his stomach whenever he flirted with Mustang's authority. "Roy?" He pushed. "Stop dicking around, what is it?" The silence continued, and Ed lulled his head back and emptied his lungs toward the sky. Mustang wanted military obedience, and Ed surrendered with a softly muttered, "Sir?"

"When I call you, you do not hang up the phone." Roy was angry. "Is that understood?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Edward, right now."

Ed bared his teeth to the merciless phone box and gave the metal beam supporting it a rotten kick. Even alone he was humiliated to be so whipped, and under his breath he forced out a, "Yes sir, sorry sir."

"What?" Roy asked. "I'm afraid I can't hear you."

"I said, yes sir, sorry sir!" Ed yelled his words loudly, hoping Roy had to jerk the receiver away from his ear.

"Now listen to me, I have a doctor phoning me about Alphonse."

"What?" Ed felt concern leap within him. _So Doctor Alman was obnoxious enough to call the military even though Alphonse wasn't enlisted, was he._ That was a bit too much like calling the local police, and Ed felt a spike of panic.

"Right now this, modest clinic, is attempting to assume custody of your brother because the doctor on line one thinks that his current guardian is unsafe."

"What!" Ed was utterly confused. "What guardian! What the hell are they talking about! Who has custody? They don't have custody!"

"Your exchanges with him aren't exactly normal," Roy said. He had years of working with the Elrics. Ed had been under his reign since the boy was in diapers, and now that Alphonse was free of the armor, Ed was odder than ever. It was one thing to have a post-pubescent boy mucking things up, but with Alphonse returning to the flesh, Ed's idiosyncrasies were at an all-time high. He was obsessed. That was the nicest way to put it. Even Hawkeye, who found Ed's maternal side adorable in the feminine way females often found those things adorable, was a bit taken back at times. With a few beers in her she'd once joked that could he, Ed would chew Alphonse's food and spit it into Alphonse's open mouth, and there was truth inside that joke. Justified and a bit unjustified, and Alphonse was equally as odd. He clung to Ed the way one clings to a life preserver in an open desolate ocean.

"The doctor thinks your brother is autistic."

This statement lit a fire through Ed, and controlling his fury poorly, he snarled, "The fuck?"

"Because I told him so."

"You!"

"The call was routed to me because whatever Alphonse has told the man has him concerned for Alphonse's wellbeing. This doctor says Alphonse is in no condition to care for himself. Wants the boy hospitalized, and believes whatever Alphonse has been exposed to, which he implies is the primary guardian, is a dominating abusive force."

Ed grabbed the payphone with his free hand and squeezed. "I—I only left the room for a minute!" Doctor Alman was fast, and after all this, to have someone even suggest.

"Alphonse doesn't sound to be in better shape. There is significant concern over his bruising, and from the way the man is talking, Alphonse must be prattling on like a twit." Roy sounded tired. "I told him you were suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from stationing in the North, and that Alphonse is rather perched in the autism scale. That your grandmother takes care of the boy out in the country, and the unpleasantness he's recently suffered is classified."

Ed didn't know where to begin. Breathing felt a bit hard. Anger, that was very real, and very hot exploded inside him, and it was all he could do to keep standing and remain silent.

"Ed, what the hell is going on there? What the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing!" Ed balked. "I'm trying to get Alphonse a physical!"

Roy brought his fist down on his desk. "Outside of the military!"

"Alphonse isn't in the military!"

"You brought the product of transmutation to civilian doctors!" Roy was hot.

"He's not a product! He's my brother! And he needs to see one, I'm not a doctor, Roy!"

"Ed, I swear to God."

"I swear to God!"

"This is serious, Elric."

Ed could hear Roy breathing into the phone, and it was just as rough as his own. There was something very panicking about all of this, and it had much to do with people sticking their noses where they didn't go.

Unintentionally, and somehow dumbly certain of the near outcome he had invited, Ed was feeling like an ass. "Roy, don't let them do anything to him," Ed said, startled with the weak and shaky sound of his own voice. _He couldn't lose Alphonse now._

"Son of a bitch."

"Roy, I'm serious." This was almost begging, and Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Can you get me out of this? How serious is it? Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it." Alphonse was young enough he needed to have a legal guardian, and an older brother in the military suffering post traumatic whatever, did not sound like a very solid bet. Without knowing anything about, the system, Ed knew it was at least designed with a responsive clause. "Alphonse needs to be looked at. He's changing all the time."

"This isn't the way. This wasn't the way, Ed."

"I know that now."

"Why didn't you use the medical staff here?" Roy was startled with Ed's naivety, but for Ed it was hard to explain. The military doctors were their own breed. They weren't sensitive and they weren't patient. Alphonse was not going to be able to handle a man of no bedside manner barking repetitive orders at him. He needed a quiet domestic environment, where he could take the time he needed to feel comfortable, but this was difficult to present. Ed had been expecting a small clinic, with a doctor who had years of experience and not many connections. _Or any balls!_

"Ed, go get Alphonse, and bring him back to Central. If you feel it's necessary later, I will arrange to have someone visit your apartment, does that work?" This was Roy being nice, and Ed sputtered an uncomfortable noise. It was hard to say to say, yes, that does make me feel better, without sounding like a numskull.

Roy didn't wait for a response. He sat with his head in his hand, and his gaze across the room locked with Hawkeye. At her own desk, pen poised above her work, she returned the gaze and joined the conversation in her own way.

Roy felt exhausted and his expression told her what was going on: ED _._

"I will speak to the doctor, and let him know the state is involved without saying how we are. There's no reason to believe this stall tactic shouldn't work, but get Alphonse and be back this afternoon. I can't stop someone from pushing the issue if you're outside of military custody. You need to be in Central."

"Okay," Ed muttered.

"Keep it nice and peaceful, Ed." Roy hung up. He gave no departure, he had other people to call. Over the next fifteen minutes he finalized his dinner reservations, confirmed his dry cleaning was ready, and was dialing a newly acquired number scrawled in female penmanship, when Hawkeye answered her desk phone and looked over.

"Whatever it is, leave me alone," Roy said, holding his receiver to his ear and listening to it ring. He wanted to confirm his date one last time. He had forgotten to ask if she liked red or white wine, and wouldn't hazard a guess.

Hawkeye ignored this order, and said, "Sir, Ed assaulted the small town clinic doctor." She sounded as if she expected this.

Roy slammed his phone down. He locked his gaze with her and understood, without having a single detail, what happened. _Ed lost his temper._ Now in hindsight Roy realized he never should have told Ed the man called Alphonse autistic, and that he agreed, and that he had described Ed as a basket-case to explain away his odd tendencies, but what was to be said about honesty. He had kept it with Ed, against his better judgment, and Ed's actions, for years. It was a fulfilling prophecy of repetitive mistakes.

"He punched the man in the face," Hawkeye explained, sounding tired. "With his right hand."

* * *

Happy Black Friday, readers!

I sincerely hoped Part Two helped flesh out some of the concerns I've been hearing between these chapters. Board of Squares starts with the story well in play, with details coming gradually, so for those of you a little taken back, or outright horrified with Alphonse, if you can please lend me your patience, I think you might like where this goes. I absolutely love and respect Alphonse as a character and had a lot of fun writing him in this story because of how greatly he was disrupted in these beginning chapters. I believe Chapter One is where you receive it at its most extreme, to set the stage, so if this was hard for you, I think the upcoming chapters will give you some comfort and humor.

Again, please keep in mind I have not read the manga and this was written before Brotherhood, so it's slight AU, as I was playing, and paving a potential artery for FMA to continue.

With the posting of Part Two, I'll kick off my biweekly updates here, and thoroughly hope you're enjoying so far!

Chapter Two: _Military Sabotage,_ will be posted Friday 12/09/16

I look forward to seeing you – please review.


	3. Military Sabotage

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Two  
 _Military Sabotage_

\- mirage -

Roy pressed his finger to the Elric doorbell and didn't lift it until the door was answered.

Ed looked tired, and was in loose gray sweatpants and a black long sleeve shirt. He answered the door with the exasperation of someone burdened with many unrelenting worries, and he beckoned Roy in with relief. It had been hours since they'd last spoken and Ed looked fresh from a shower with his damp hair in a traditional ponytail.

"Thanks for coming by, did you just leave work?" Ed asked, stepping aside.

The Elric apartment was small. One of many on base, and all with the same blueprint: Kitchen entrance, one bedroom, one bathroom, bar style counter overlooking the living room.

Roy wasted no time getting down to it. "Let me see your assault charges."

Ed left the kitchen quickly and went to the single coffee table in the living room where a packet of very crinkled papers lay. "They're really exaggerated," Ed said, handing them over with a look of unease. _Threats to Ed's self meant nothing, threats to Alphonse meant everything._ Roy had learned this for himself early on, and he had used these threats only when necessary because Ed took them to heart.

"I'm sure," Roy said, beginning to read with Ed looking over his shoulder and joining with arms crossed. "Ed, you punched the man twice?" Roy asked, skimming quickly. "In the face?" It seemed Ed did this unprovoked. The first time without witness, and the second with two nurses present.

"Yeah, well," Ed said, giving the back of his neck a rub. "He was…" Ed gestured to the paper and gave a broken shrug. "He was being an ass, Colonel."

"An ass."

"Yes! He was being an ass!"

Roy lowered the papers. He gave a small sigh and glanced around. Ed wasn't a messy person and the apartment was neat. It was also furnished by the military and the Elric's previously owned nothing so nothing had been added. The furniture was standard in design and also unisex in color. The only proof the apartment was occupied were the dishes in the sink, and two sickly looking plants the boys owned on their window sill.

"Ed, these charges don't look good," Roy said, eyeing the plants with distaste. They had long vibrant leaves which instead of growing upward, were hanging from the basket ready to detach.

"I know it doesn't look good," Ed said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "I don't need a lecture about it, all right?" Ed sounded worried that was exactly what he was going to get, but Roy had other ideas. The first, was not wasting his breath preaching basic concepts like: don't hit. "I got really freaked out with what you said, and the next thing I know, the guy is making these comments about Alphonse being …in the head, and I just hit him." Ed gave another exaggerated shrug trying to play down the assault. "I was aiming for his mouth. It wasn't so much his head I was hitting, but his mouth." Ed explained this as if it made things better, and Roy groaned.

Alphonse emerged from the bedroom in loose comfortable clothing two sizes too big. His stick frame was swimming in them, but he seemed not to notice, and became excited on sight of Roy.

"Colonel, I didn't know you were visiting!" Alphonse said happily.

Roy gave Alphonse a dull smile. "Yes well, when my subordinates have police charges brought against them I take a personal interest."

"I'm really sorry about that, sir. That was probably my fault." Alphonse looked sincerely sympathetic. _Because Alphonse was always sincerely sympathetic._

Ed waved this off. "It wasn't your fault, Al." Ed walked back to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out a single food container before opening it at the counter. "He had it coming."

"Nii-san said the doctor was a pompous son-of-a-bitch and didn't know what he was talking about," Alphonse told Roy in an explanatory tone. Since his transfer from armor to blood, he had lost all filters. "Knowing that, I'm really annoyed I still had to see him."

Ed's container was filled with thin take-out burritos and he was half way through one when Alphonse said this. "We didn't know that at first," Ed said angrily. "And you still need to see someone."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do, Alphonse. I'm serious."

"No, Nii-san. You said I had to see that guy, and I did! I shouldn't have to see anyone else!" Alphonse had also become obstinately unthinking in his transfer. "He's not going to tell us anything we don't already know!"

"He could!" Ed said. Ed was chewing a long string of cheese leaking from his burrito while frowning at Alphonse. It was obvious he had more to say and was restraining himself in hopes to manage the cheese before giving up. With a long thread of it tethering his mouth to the half-eaten food he said, "You're seeing whoever Roy is lining up."

Alphonse looked to Roy with aghast shock. "What!" Alphonse gave a small stomp. "Nii-san, that's lying! You promised me I only had to see that one doctor!" Ed was silent, and Roy knew this meant Ed had indeed promised, but he had learned, over the years, to stay out of it when the brothers were arguing. This was true when Alphonse was in the armor, and it was more true now than ever before. Since the transmutation Ed and Al had lost what little normality was left to their relationship for an odd collection of what appeared to be obsessive and almost incestuous tendencies. If he hadn't known Ed before the event, and if he hadn't had the pleasure of watching Ed go through puberty, which on one memorable occasion left Ed reporting before his desk trying to ignore an unprompted boner Ed couldn't control, he'd be worried.

Hawkeye said she was not worried.

"I don't feel good after that guy touched all that stuff!" Alphonse said, continuing with a raised tone of immense frustration. "Now my liver is swelling, my throat hurts, my nose hurts, my ears hurt, my testicles hurt, and my eyesight keeps blurring!"

Roy glanced to Ed with the conversation turning to private topics. Alphonse discussed his human body as if he were discussing an anatomical diagram, and in many ways Roy had to imagine that was what it was like for the boy. In the armor, Alphonse understood humans and human parts, but could no longer relate. Suddenly forced to, he discussed them like a medical student, and the comedy was, that Ed was intelligent enough to go to bat with his fourteen-year-old medical student brother. Commendable, if either of them could remain aware of their surroundings, and Alphonse could remember that private things were not polite to mention in public.

Ed derailed his argument when Alphonse brought up testicles, and closed his eyes for a collapsing sigh. "I—I know, but, and you just need to stop touching everything the doctor touched," Ed said softly. "It will all feel better, but you need to leave your body alone." Alphonse watched a small wad of cheese coated beef drip out of Ed's burrito and back into Ed's container. He looked skeptical to put things politely, and rather pissed to put them frankly. "Trust me on this, Al," Ed said. Roy could hear the exhaustion in Ed's voice. It was thick, as if Ed had caught a cold since Alphonse was reborn and had been battling it ever since. In many ways this was how Roy thought of the event. Since that day Ed had appeared like the parent of a colicky new born: constantly tired, always preoccupied, unable to multitask, and downright bitchy when things weren't going his way. "Want to stay in here while Roy is visiting?" Ed asked, lifting a hand in gesture towards Roy. Ed glanced over to Roy and explained quickly with, "He was laying down."

"So he can lecture you like you don't know what you're doing, even when you know god-damn-well what you're doing?" Alphonse asked, repeating Ed's words like a kindergartner. Ed winced and quickly waved for Alphonse to leave.

"Okay, yeah it's probably better you go lie down."

"To show you who is boss, and put you in your place, so he can make himself feel all-knowing and all-powerful?"

"Thanks Alphonse!" Ed snapped, grasping Alphonse's shoulders and spinning him around before guiding him back to the bedroom. "Filters, remember? Choose your words based on your surroundings," Ed whispered, pushing Alphonse back into the bedroom. "Don't get my ass in more trouble than it already is, geez." Ed shut the bedroom door in Alphonse's face and gave Roy a wide innocent grin. "What an imagination he has," Ed teased.

"Ed, I am all-knowing and all-powerful, you think you would have learned that by now," Roy said dryly. Ed gave a small good natured laugh. Roy tossed the assault papers onto the counter and poked a finger down onto them. "This however, is not a joke."

Ed returned to the counter and slid into one of the bar stools before dragging his container over. "What do you want from me?" Ed asked, tone drained. "An apology? A report? A formal report? What?" Roy watched Ed finish his burrito in one bite. "I don't care what it is, I'm just too tired for this. You can make it humiliating, I won't argue. You win this time, Mustang, I shouldn't have punched the asshole, I know." Ed lifted another burrito and devoured half of it in two bites. Then he sat chewing with a lazy gaze waiting for his punishment.

Roy gestured to the container with a bit of disgust. "What are you doing?"

"Having dinner," Ed said flatly.

Roy reached forward and took the container away. Since he had arrived he had felt there was something missing in the Elric apartment, and suddenly it felt as if he learned what it was: ORDER.

"Okay, give this to me," he said angrily. Ed jerked back with a look of outrage and confusion when he took the boy's food and set it in the dish filled sink. "Stay where you are," he ordered, walking to the phone. It hung on the wall alongside the refrigerator, and chewing with an open mouth, Ed watched Roy lift the receiver with an expression of absolute befuddlement. "I have decided how I will reprimand you, and I'll explain in a minute."

Ed groaned. He slouched into the counter and leaned his head into his hands. "Sometimes I wish this fucked up arrangement with you as my commanding officer was just a bit more fucked up. Then you could just beat me for my transgressions and we could end this time consuming game. It gets hard to think of various ways to apologize and make it sound sincere."

Roy gave Ed a firm warning point while listening to the line ring. The message was clear: _Reign it in._

Hawkeye was not at home, and so they waited in silence for ten minutes before Roy tried her again. Ed sat where he was ordered looking relieved he was confined from any activity so he could rest. By the time Hawkeye was on the line Ed was almost dead asleep holding his head in his palm with his cheek looking three times its size.

Roy kept his voice down as he spoke. Hawkeye was not immediately supportive of his plan. She continuously referenced the fact that Ed was eighteen, and capable of taking care of himself. To spite him, she also kept bringing up how hard he had been on Ed when the boy was only thirteen and fourteen, and so found Roy's current actions a bit preemptive and nosey. In his defense Roy said that Alphonse didn't appear to be playing with a full deck, and he had gone on record today stating that Ed was suffering post traumatic stress disorder and Alphonse was mentally challenged to work the boys out of a mess they'd made. He elaborated with Ed's raspy voice, his absent-mindedness, stress-level, and the fact Ed fell asleep sitting up at the kitchen counter while they were having their phone call. Hawkeye seemed more concerned with Ed sleeping at the counter than she did about the PTS lie, and reluctantly agreed.

Roy disconnected after she confirmed she'd make the remaining necessary calls and ordered food. He wanted Ed to have something warm and solid, and he didn't feel up to preparing anything himself. After he ordered a hot soup and sandwiched, he checked the boys' refrigerator and didn't know what to make of the contents. There were lots of small containers of recognizable food in small allotments. The majority appeared to be fruits and vegetables, and most seemed to be in one cup servings, but a few were harder to place, with many of the containers unusually small. Just about the only familiar items were condiments, and a few unhealthy take out combinations much like the burritos Ed was eating. Roy found it unsuitable and when his cavalry arrived, he woke Ed by sitting down in the stool next to him.

Ed roused with a quick inhale of breath, and gave a slow groggy blink. He remembered where he was and what they were doing, and turned a slow indifferent gaze to Roy and yawned. "So," Ed said, voice a bit raspy. He wiped at his mouth and gave his lips a lick before sitting up and cracking his neck. "What's it going to be?" Ed slouched forward, folding his arms on the counter and laying his head into them. "A bad assignment? Want to ship me out East where it's hot and I hate it? Or up North where it's cold enough to freeze my nads off?" Ed chuckled into his arms. "Maybe, shine your boots?" Ed teased. "What?" Roy kept silent and Ed groaned a sound of protesting anguish. "Oh geez, how many pages does it need to be then?"

Roy studied Ed. Ed was sleepy and looked at peace the way an exhausted person looked at peace on any surface they could lay their head. He had no intention of putting Ed through the ringer in the condition Ed was in. In fact he thought a change was in order if he wanted Ed around in the next few years to do productive work for him.

"Actually I'm giving you tomorrow off," Roy said.

Ed cracked an eye and peeked at Roy with skeptical confusion. "What…you mean like a personal day?"

"I think that would suffice."

Ed's gaze narrowed with immediate suspicion. "You're giving me a day off for earning assault charges?" Ed asked, still skeptical. Roy was silent. "What will you do if I explore a little grand theft, give me a raise?"

"I think you need a day to take care of yourself. It's my opinion you earned yourself assault charges because you're worn too thin." Ed took on a mild look of offense and Roy gestured to the counter. "You're sleeping at the counter, and eating old burritos you didn't even heat up."

"That's my business," Ed said defiantly. "It's not the military's."

"You're not going to like your punishment."

"Sounds like I will."

"Don't make a fool of yourself when you wrap your head around it, Fullmetal. You'll embarrass yourself." Roy stood up and walked to Ed's apartment door. Ed lifted his head with confusion, but kept a sullen silence. Roy was good at lectures and good at scolding, so Ed didn't feel real panic until Roy opened the door and let Hawkeye in. Somehow the fact she was out of uniform and wearing a light fall sweater and jean skirt made her alarming. It was a bad sign for Roy to call her for backup, and an even worse sign to call her from home.

Hawkeye gave Roy a warm smile as she stepped in. She began a hello before noticing Ed, then her smile washed away and she stepped quickly to the counter and laid her hand upon it. As if giving her condolences, she leaned forward, and broke into rapid speech. "Ed, I know this might seem extreme to you, but the Colonel and I think this is for your own good."

Ed jerked up where he sat, and looked accusingly to Roy. "What's going on," he demanded angrily.

Hawkeye was taken back, and turned to Roy for explanation. Roy left the door ajar and began a fast walk towards the bedroom. "An intervention," Roy said, only half joking. "Ed, you're taking the day off tomorrow, and Alphonse is going to stay with Hawkeye."

Ed felt his heart leap up his throat, and almost fell off his stool. He scrambled out of his chair ready for argument, before Armstrong stepped into the apartment, and the sheer size of the man startled Ed back a step.

"Major!" Ed cried, shrinking under a presage of failure. "You're in on this too!" You didn't need guns as big as Armstrong to win when you could pull rank, but Mustang hadn't planned on a battle, he had prepared for a slaughter, and Armstrong made sure of that. "This is crap!" Ed declared loudly.

"Come now, Edward," Armstrong said warmly. The deep nature of his voice rumbled through the solidarity of him with cushioned robust power, because his tone was kind. It was obvious his intentions were well-placed, but Ed recognized the mass of him as Mustang's bull-ramming chessboard Rook. _His opposing_ _Knight_ _would be smashed to splinters!_ "The Lieutenant filled me in, and I think it would be wise for you to take a day of rest."

"Ed, I know it looks a bit like sabotage with us here," Hawkeye said quickly. "But try not to be mad at the Colonel, he's looking out for you." _She was the Queen to Mustang's King._

"I'm not mad, I'm fucking pissed!" Ed snapped. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about!" Ed gave a quick shake of his head, and tried to compose himself. He wasn't going to win favor acting like a narrow-minded child. This was political, _somehow, always political_ , and that meant his campaign needed to be rooted in dominating fact. "Thank you for your concern," Ed said, forcing himself into a calm and responsible appearance. _Time to act like an adult, you pony._ "And for coming by, but Mustang didn't discuss any of this with me."

Roy welcomed Alphonse into the dorm's living quarters and retorted with a crisp, "We're not here for a discussion, Ed. I made my point simplistically clear." He punctuated his sentence with a short, but clear warning glance. Not one of threat, but one of fierce philanthropic direction. It was a look Ed remembered from years ago, when he was unwisely opening his mouth to combat Generals and Brigadiers, and Mustang's gaze reminded him to be silent.

 _Think before you speak, isn't that one of your country phrases?_ Roy had asked, sitting at his desk, finger tapping in thought while the air at Ed's twelve-year-old side cleared of the authority left by the Black Stone Brigadier. A man as notorious for his short patience as he was his profanity. Ed remained silent, in a sullen pout, staring Mustang down for the disrespectful way he was always told to shut-up when he had opinions he wanted to voice. On that day Mustang had smiled, and with the same dark and pointed glare, amended with, _pause before you think, Ed._ It was revolutionary. _It all starts so much earlier than thought._

Under Mustang's gaze, Ed went still, suddenly, as if stricken, and for a moment his outrage was gone for a simple clear passing of silence. _The pause._ It propelled reflection, and usually resulted in him attaining a missed point, something obnoxiously obvious in hindsight, but today the only thought that came blaring home was: HE IS STEALING YOUR BROTHER! HE IS TAKING THE PAWN!, and Ed sputtered a fast and confused, "What?"

"Alphonse has agreed to spend the night at Hawkeye's." Roy dropped this bomb casually. "Since, I advised him you think it's best while you're entertained with new and classified work responsibilities." A smug twitch came to the right corner of Roy's mouth, before he added,"he was gracious enough to agree."

"Gracious my ass, you…" Ed stopped himself before stepping on the back of the shovel he commonly used to begin digging himself a hole, and went to Alphonse. He took a tight possessive grip on Alphonse's bony shoulders, and lowered his voice to something tender. "Alphonse, listen to me." Alphonse looked mildly confused with Ed's frazzled appearance, but was also relatively calm because everyone else was. "You don't have to go to Hawkeye's."

It was as simple as that. Mustang was going to say go, and he was going to say stay, and Alphonse was going to stay, Ed felt certain. He watched his statement seep into Alphonse's mind with Alphonse's large golden eyes staring up at him in contemplation, before they turned, and looked to Hawkeye.

It was as powerful as turning off one light, and turning on another. There was a sense of trust seeded in Alphonse's expression when he looked to her, and it detonated an explosion of trepidation in Ed's stomach.

Alphonse's gaze for Hawkeye wasn't one of casual friendship, it was assuaged with relief. As if he were looking at refuge, and Ed remembered her drizzling threads of location onto Alphonse's pink arm, and realized dumbly, that since that moment Hawkeye had graduated status in Alphonse's brain. She was no longer just the First Lieutenant, she was SAFE, and if she was safe, that meant in this muddled mindset, she held the exact same status as him!

 _Interchangeable._

With Alphonse's thought-process confined to the present, Ed imagined Hawkeye as a joyfully appealing aberration Alphonse couldn't wait to take, and before Ed could stop himself he muttered, "You shit." _You shit Mustang! You did this on purpose!_ Roy had anticipated this desire to save face, and calculated his chess board with a stacked attach. For what Hawkeye did not handle, there was Armstrong, but Mustang did not think there was much she couldn't handle. In fact the entire plan carried a sense of debasing moronic harmony, as if she could just flitter in and flitter out with Alphonse, because the reality seemed to be, _she could!_

"Major!" Ed turned to Armstrong. Next to patriotic obedience the man was an ogre about good health, surely his opinion could be swayed!

Roy stopped this by speaking a simple, "No, Ed." _No, he cannot be swayed, nit-wit._ Armstrong was the cavalry shielded by Hawkeye's .308.

Roy placed a gentle hand on Ed's bicep and the minute the ammunition fabric touched Ed's skin, his gaze launched to Roy screaming. _You're doing this! You're fucking doing this! You're doing it? Fuck! FUCK!_

"Alphonse, why don't you get some things to take with you for the night," Roy said. He gestured for Alphonse to leave to the bedroom, and somehow gestured Hawkeye follow, without breaking his newly acquired stare with Ed. "It's best we keep this simple, right Ed?" _Don't make a mess of yourself,_ Roy's gaze warned _. I'll let you, but I don't advise it._

Absently, Roy's right hand was diddling the thumb over the ring and middle in a distracted gesture as he spoke, and Ed felt like he could feel the friction of the cloth. Could hear the snapping. Sense the temperature growing, while he stood ramrod straight, eyes the size of saucers, and a blank sagging expression of unbelieving siege.

Ed could feel Roy gliding through what was beginning to feel like a surreal moment of disorientation for him. Mustang was ushering Alphonse away from him, and he was allowing it. Watching the man with disbelief, with sadness, with betrayal, and why the fuck should we feel betrayed!

 _Go_ _ahead, make a mess of yourself while we're all so calm,_ Roy taunted in posture, in mannerism. His expression remained blank in social silence. He didn't need to speak or move to take a bow for an act well played, and he didn't need to rub salt into a very open wound. He hadn't claimed rank yet, and there was a reason for it: Dignity. _Don't force my hand,_ the message was so very clear. _Don't force it, because you know where this will go. I haven't been snoozing these past phone calls, I have been listening._

Like a rat! Like a mole! Roy had been fucking listening, and he was using all he'd learned as a battle strategy! It was so blatantly obvious to both of them, Roy knew it was this epiphany driving Ed's silence to the sensation of driving a stake into his brain, and the satisfaction of this crowned his expression. Brought an amusing déjà vu the old tricks still worked.

Teasing kindly, Roy gestured to Alphonse scampering after Hawkeye and said, "Just like a puppy after an enjoyable toy."

Ed snarled with insult, and found his voice. "Al isn't well, Roy. He will be seriously injured."

"If he had a tail, he'd be wagging it."

"Seriously injured!" Ed raised his voice, and Roy became annoyed.

"It is the neglect of that accusation, and not the ignorance of its base, which is offensive, Ed." The thought he'd put his men in harm was idiotic. "Don't insult me." He had absolute confidence Hawkeye could care for Alphonse. "This is going to be a smooth transaction. We're going to swap Alphonse out for your bed, and you can fuss over his autism tomorrow when he returns in one piece." Roy looped his arm comfortably over Ed's shoulders, because he didn't expect things to run from start to finish without something. Ed guaranteed there was always something, and that his something came at the worst time, in the worst way, with the worst ramifications. And if it proved to be more powerful than whatever Hawkeye could think around, and Armstrong could tackle, than there was always the sole contingency, but we didn't want to pull it. We wanted a fast, easy, obtainable execution without this excruciating stretch of worry. Briefly, Roy contemplated how inane it would have been to simply purchased extra toiletries and clothing for Alphonse, and hijack the boy as is. Perhaps send for them later, but that seemed to take the human out of this, and what they were doing was human. Caring for another was always human, even if the person being cared for hated you for it.

Roy's heavy arm felt like a noose about Ed's neck, and Ed seethed a quiet, "I'm going to kill you, Colonel."

"I know."

"If you want to give me time off, fine. I'll stay on the couch tomorrow if that's what you want, but this is bullshit!" Ed whispered angrily.

Something of bed rest fell painfully short of what Roy thought Ed needed. It wasn't a room's distance from the cancer eating at Ed's physical and mental toiling since Alphonse slid back into the world in periodic-afterbirth, convulsing and incapable, it was true respite care. Care that could only be achieved by moving Alphonse from Ed's capable hands into another capable set.

"You know I'm taking things serious with Alphonse, and this is fucking his well-being Roy, what do you want me to do?" _Is that desperation in your voice?_

"I want you to comply."

"Comply?" Ed whispered, mind blown. A tiny heat flickered , and with anger he said, "That's fucking surrender."

"Only if you make this a battle."

"But you're making it an abduction!"

"Because you plan to make it a battle." Roy's gaze rested near the uninteresting living room plants. "It won't be the first," Roy said, returning his gaze to Ed. The unspoken word was: COMMAND. "You don't have to like them all, and unfortunately, this won't be the last, but it is one just the same." That was what the Major would see. Why Hawkeye had Alphonse in her crosshairs and the Major was on standby. _Patriotic Obedience = Submission to your Commander._ Roy took the road of comedy, because he was graceful, and because he had already won. "You act like I don't have practice manipulating preteens under my command." Roy paused with a wry comfortable smile. "When you gave me years of practice."

Ed felt an ember of heat growing between his body and Mustang's, and he imagined the white of Mustang's finger tips brushing over one another. All it took was just a bit more pressure, and he was going to burn. His gut was warning him. His body felt it coming. _You'll burn for this._

Alphonse returned from the bedroom and went directly to the door with Hawkeye. His sneakers lay on the indoor mat, and he stepped into them. The slimsy make of his body glided the right foot past the tied laces without the slightest inconvenience, but the left caught, because Alphonse had it at the wrong angle, and Ed went rigid.

It was like smelling smoke. _Now was the time to intervene! Now was the time for that battle you are being talked out of, stupid! Are you lowering your guns because you fear the emblem on the flag? Are you really going to wait while they pile up the kindling!_

"Hawkeye is not a good choice," Ed said quickly. _Anything to delay!_

"She is a good choice," Roy countered flawlessly. "Alphonse trusts her, and so do we." Roy put the emphasis on the 'we,' because you took certain people at their word, and you took those they vouched for without question. Like a domino, the day we learned we could truly trust Roy Mustang, five other names came with that purchase.

Ed closed his eyes and tried to get his head together. _There was this distracting scent of roasting pine_ _._ "I can't." He couldn't let this happen."I can't let it happen to him." He was paralyzed with the thought of Alphonse being removed from his controlled environment. His brain was feeding him danger after danger. _There were sharp corners, the stairs down, the seat belt too tight, the car not parked safely, the temperature of her apartment, the temperature of her water, her food, her laundry, her furniture, the dog, that canine infestation of unsanitary microbes, and lapping at all of it, the outside world with all the germs! The germs, holy fuck, the germs!_ All of it was a blade to Alphonse's skin. He couldn't handle it like a young boy, he handled it like a one-year-old, curious, and nervous, but excited, until he started bleeding.

So far we had managed standing still, and voicing our opinions like an adult, but the tactic seemed fruitless, and acknowledging this made Ed sick. He couldn't hide how frazzled he was beginning to look, and it was damn undignified! Escalating any further meant in front of the First Lieutenant, and also, in front of the Major, he was going to have to make a pansy-ass mess of himself. He was going to do what Roy teased him of doing: whining and crying over Alphonse. _Stop your whining and crying, Fullmetal,_ Roy would say, without malice while they were on the phone. It was one of Roy's phrases, and now it was becoming true.

Ed hated it.

The very idea Alphonse might make it one day without complication was outlandish fantasy, but disobeying orders as stark as this was suicide. Mustang's plan had no retreat clause, and he would swing like a hammer. Ed reached up and snatched his sinuses. On muscle memory he was lapsing into large controlled breaths to keep himself functioning. Progression was being wafted behind bouts of building smoke, and Ed felt locked on his chess square unable to move. _Mustang had boxed him in!_ Outlets for aid, were currently enemy pieces, inflicting the turmoil they traditionally helped resolve! _Loyal fucking traitors!_

"Edward," Major Armstrong said, not blind to the intense cripple of fret that had seized Ed's frame with Alphonse near the door. "The First Lieutenant will keep him plenty safe, you have nothing to worry about. Everyone needs time off once in a while." Armstrong was perfectly at ease. Fleshing out the explanation of a disease required a visual, without it, things were just large confusing words. You needed to see the blood, see the bile, see the puss! Only then could you truly realize things were bad! Only then you could step back and cringe! _His capable image is a fucking façade, you morons!_

Something inside Ed began to feel as it were rattling under the vibration of a low but constant tremor, and he pressed his automail palm down his thigh. From his shoulders into his neck it felt as if he'd pulled something badly, and Roy noticed.

The sudden cementing of Ed's muscles, and nervous licking of his lips brought Roy's eyes to narrow suspiciously. _They hadn't stoked to real flames yet._

"Ed, take a deep breath," Roy said, tone stern and hardening further. He used the causal arm about Ed's shoulders to give the boy's chest an air clearing pat. "You're doing fine."

Ed pinched his lips, restraining the yell Roy feared coming, before he blurted, "Alphonse, you should stay home, you've been too sick to go."

An armored Alphonse Elric would have heard Ed's request and unsettled overture, but mercurial flesh Alphonse did not. "I wasn't too sick to go Awbeziz," Alphonse said, struggling with his right sneaker. "So I should be able to make it to Hawkeye's." Alphonse did not sound confident, but he sounded willing. "And no one has invited me anywhere since I've gotten my new body, Nii-san."

Ed sputtered as if this illogical phrase slapped him, and managed a fast, "There's a good fucking reason for that, Alphonse. What the hell are you talking about?"

Alphonse managed both sneakers and returned to Ed wearing a bright smile. "Nii-san, this should make work much easier for you. Don't be so heartless, Hawkeye says Black Hayate is at the vet, so she has no company."

 _No company!_ Ed's head screamed. _What fucking insanity was this!_ He shot a quick glance to Roy, one fast enough to send the message: _You fucking ass! You threw the dog in on this! On top of everything you thought of the fucking dog and Alphonse's irrational love for damn animals, and you're using it now like a fucking weapon, because I told you how he wants cats! I told you that! I fucking told you, and you fucking listened!_

Roy met Ed's gaze with something that looked like indifference, but answered a clear and flat: _Yes, I did._

Hawkeye took hold of the doorknob, rushing to leave, and said, "Ed, please don't worry. We'll stick to all set routines. We're not trying to cause you more stress."

Her expression said this was true, but Ed felt his anger flare. She might have been compassionate, but she was tossing on the logs just like everyone else, and he yelled, "Well it god damn is, Hawkeye!"

Roy gave his arm a sharp scolding tug, and it took Ed to the side enough he had to move his footing to keep his balance. _Just like a dog on a fucking leash._

"Nii-san, why are you changing your mind now?" Alphonse asked, a mild look of worry beginning to taint his optimistic expression like a dim light bulb slowly glowing brighter.

"Not to worry, Alphonse," Armstrong said. "Your brother has much on his plate right now, but he looks plenty capable to me." _Lies._

Alphonse relaxed. The worry disappeared, the light bulb turned off, and he returned to the immediate present, where the topic of thought was wondering what the inside of Hawkeye's apartment looked like. He accepted Armstrong's statement, but something about Ed's grotesque expression of agony did not allow a flawless transition. Alphonse said, "Nii-san," then paused, as if another thought was trying to fit in there. _Something about this doesn't add up…but where do you think Black Hayate sleeps? Maybe he has a small bed of his own, and lots of little toys._ "Nii-san." Objection disappeared again. "Don't worry. If you finish early you can call me, and I'll come back right away." Alphonse sounded jovial, if not satisfied with his departure, but Ed's silence was a driving wedge. "Nii-san," Alphonse said, tone suddenly impatient and annoyed, before becoming worried, and familiar. As if armor-Alphonse was catching wind of something. In a tone they all recognized from the metal shell, he asked, "Am—am I doing something wrong?" with more self-disappointment than inquiry. Suddenly, it sounded as if he knew he was. Suddenly, it sounded like he understood things.

Hawkeye shot a fast worried glance to Roy. She didn't have it in her to forcibly remove Alphonse, but Roy's expression was stoic and controlled. His confidence was still unwavering because Ed had described Alphonse to him over long calls. _Forgetful, easily distracted, idiotic,_ Ed said this with kind honesty, and Roy believed it was accurate. He stood waiting for this latest thought to tumble weed its way across Alphonse's mind so the next could step in, but Ed's distressed expression stopped the breeze. _Not gone completely, are you, Alphonse._

Just as quickly as Alphonse was leaving, he was staying, and Roy remembered Ed using the word _CAPRICIOUS_ , over and over again. Alphonse slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder and opened his mouth to announce his confused decision to stay, when Roy interrupted him.

"Alphonse, I insist you go," Roy said, keeping a sanguine tone. It wasn't time to panic yet. The little half-wit was almost to the door.

Alphonse's stunted thought-process kept him almost senseless, but he still remembered he did not have to listen to Roy Mustang like his brother, and he turned to Hawkeye to cancel the visit, and they all saw it. Roy felt Ed inhale with sudden hope he was going to win when losing was right on top of him, and Roy tightened the hold of his arm. _You didn't come to the Elric apartment with only one trick up your sleeve. Hell, you didn't come with only three._

"Alphonse, there is someone at your door," Roy said. Hawkeye opened it in one swift pull, and there was Havoc: _the missing Bishop_ _._ He flashed a quick goofy grin, and lifted a six pack like a fishing trophy. Wearing faded blue jeans, and a military sweatshirt he looked anything but a highly trained soldier.

"Hey, short man," Havoc greeted Alphonse. "Spending the night at Hawkeye's? That should be nice."

Ed took to grinding his teeth with usage of the word short, but Havoc had deliberately given Alphonse this nickname to be an ass. To utilize blacklisted vocabulary to an indifferent party in his presence.

Alphonse invited Havoc in with joy for guests, but Ed contradicted this with a fast, "Havoc, get out of here, you're not invited in!" Alphonse took a step toward the door, following Hawkeye's subtle nod, and Ed flinched with the overwhelming desire to stop the progression of events. The ground was slipping away. _Now was the time for hysterics if there was going to be any._

"Alphonse!" Ed yelled. "Get away from the door! You have to stay home! You're sick as death, and it's unsafe! You and I need to talk about this!"

Havoc had a graceful inconspicuous talent when it came to charismatically getting his way, and with an arm looped about Alphonse's shoulders, he said, "Okay, well you heard Ed, Alphonse, time for you to go!" He pushed Alphonse to the doorway, and Hawkeye left into the hall. Ed cried a loud, "I didn't fucking say that! Get back here, Alphonse!," but somehow we were all talking at once. It was the fastest consensual-kidnapping ever commenced. Havoc came in, Alphonse went out, eager, excited, and oblivious. He cheered a fast, "bye Nii-san!," and with an exaggerated step over the threshold left into the hall with Havoc waving like a clown.

Ed lurched forward, but the hook of Roy's elbow held him like a shackle. He reached, demanding Alphonse come back, but a slight shift of weight moved several hundred pounds of Major Armstrong into his way as efficiently as closing a human door.

"Have a nice time, Alphonse," Roy said, lifting his voice over the ruckus, before adding, "Say goodbye, Ed."

Ed's expression collapsed into a straight-faced mask of defeat. _It didn't get more irresponsible than this, and yet somewhere in the back of his treacherous mind came the whispered: Follow your orders, follow your orders._

Ed tore from Roy's hold, and Roy didn't resist. It was more symbolic than anything, and Ed pointed after Alphonse yelling, "I am not kidding!" He raised his voice and made it vicious. "This puts Alphonse in danger, Roy! He's fucking in danger, Roy! You're putting him in danger! Let me get him, you can't take him! Fuck Roy, come on!"

Havoc was mildly annoyed with the hyperbole, and said, "No one is in danger, Chief."

"Shut-it, Havoc!" Ed yelled, homing his anger on Mustang. "I've got about five fucking-hours before this blows up in your vainglorious fucking-face, fucking-Colonel. So if you're not going to let me unfuck this ruination why don't you tell me what the fuck this is fucking about!"

Coldly, Roy said, "Edward, language."

"Does profanity out-fucking-rank kidnapping now!" _This was the fire._ Ed threw the metal hand outward in a fist. It hit the stove, bending the oven handle inward to a whining metal cry, and in a room of soldiers no one batted an eye. You would need to lift the stove above your head and start threatening to toss it, for there to be alarm.

"Edward, you have no reason to be uneasy," Armstrong said kindly. "We won't allow anything to happen to Alphonse, you can trust us. There are good intensions at play."

"The path to hell is paved with good intentions!"

"I don't have much of an agenda planned, Fullmetal," Roy said, tone modestly crisp with the frustration that came from building a bonfire below someone who did not want to die.

Ed had a wealth of argument about the new events that would soon be planned, and began frantic pacing. Most involved what sounded to be elaborate bodily harm to Alphonse's seemingly capable form, and bored, Havoc made himself at home and wandered to Ed's refrigerator. He opened it, and from the stacks of tiny containers, lifted one of blueberries and stared at the blue beads as if they were severed heads.

Ed interrupted his tirade, for a scowling, "Havoc!" He snatched the blueberry container and replaced it with an angry, "Put that back!" Havoc pointed inquisitively into the refrigerator with both eyebrows lifted.

"What the heck is in there?" Havoc asked. "What the heck is all that stuff, Ed?"

Ed slammed the refrigerator door. "Blueberries!"

"All of it?"

"No! Just that one. It's just food, I…" Ed trailed off and went silent. Roy waited patiently, certain the logs had finished blazing and we were making our way back to embers as Ed slowly pressed both hands up his face. "I just…" Ed pushed them into his hair, raking his bangs back. "I am going to lose it," he said flatly, feeling the insidious desire to flee bulge uncomfortably. _I can't stay, I can't stay, I can't stay here!_ "I'm going to freak out about this."

"You're not freaking out about anything," Roy said dryly.

"I have to get him!"

"You're not getting anyone." Roy walked to the phone and picked it up. Although he had ordered Ed dinner, Ed would abscond the moment they turned a blind eye, and that meant someone had to stay, and therefore, needed to eat.

"He's like," Ed said softly, going still. "He has the body of a premature infant, and that is something none of you are getting." Ed's voice was calm and controlled, before suddenly lifting into a loud and angry shout. "None of you are getting that!" Ed slapped his hand down onto his chest. "No fucking agenda! Am I detained! Are you detaining me here! Is that what's happening!" Ed resumed pacing. "You're fucking detaining me in my own place, so you can freaking—so you can freaking—I can't! So I'm fucking detained!"

Havoc watched Ed with the disapproving look of someone who could not relate to the action they were witnessing. Ed was a new mother, infant missing. His breathing was slow and heavy, puffing like a bull, and his speed was manic.

"Ed?" Havoc called, stepping to Ed's counter and setting the six-pack on top. "Ed, get over here, I brought some cold-ones for you."

Ed stopped pacing, and went to Havoc on autopilot. His mind was somewhere else, but Havoc opened two beers in quick efficient pops. "Drink this down, buddy." He offered a can, and Ed took it. "I want two in you, no breaks."

Roy was on hold with the phone set to his ear, and watching. "Havoc, two is too many," he said. Havoc waved this off. Ed hammered the first empty can to the counter and choked a few rough breaths before bringing the second to his lips. "Havoc," Roy warned, Ed was already half way through the can. "I don't want him unable to stand."

"Sir, we had our annuals together. Two beers will be fine. I was there when they weighed him. Ed's almost two hundred pounds."

"He is not."

"Sir, he's one eighty-eight."

Roy's line became active and he ordered while wobbling an open palm toward Ed to indicate the drinking be stopped, but Havoc only whispered a dramatic, "One hundred and eighty-eight pounds."

Ed dropped the second empty can to the counter and popped a third. "Ed!" Roy spoke harshly into the receiver, and startled the noodle shop employee. "Put it down," Ed gave Roy the finger and began drinking. "I have had just about enough of this," Roy said to himself, listening to his order be recited back to him. He confirmed and hung up.

Ed was on his forth beer.

"You're going to regret this, Havoc," Roy said, taking the empty and single unopened beer can away. It was none of Havoc's business how much Ed actually weighed, and what his military physicals documented. As Ed's commanding officer that information was sent to Roy in the same thin and pristine sealed folder he received on all his men. It had everything, and because it had everything, it compared the weight of Ed's flesh and metal parts, and revealed the weight of Ed's human body: One hundred and twenty-eight.

Ed's military physicals were conducted following standard soldier procedure at Roy's request. It was not the refined and private evaluation of an alchemist, but a sloppy communal process. Roy wanted Ed with his immediate group, and separated from fat-headed entitlement eager to foster ego and presumption. Striped to his shorts Ed waited for the doctor goofing off with Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman

Soldiers were seen by the Doctor two at a time, and Havoc had confessed while drunk, that he was nervous when he learned Ed was partnered with him. Havoc said he wasn't eager to join Ed in jaybird-matrimony, and the thought of standing side by side while procedures were done one at a time had given him the willies.

Equally as drunk, Roy had laughed, assuming it was the difference in height and build that made Havoc squeamish. Sloshing around a stiff drink, he had slurred out, "You can't tell me you…don't want to show up the little punk…at least a little?" Ed had outranked Havoc for years, even while much younger, and Roy found it humorous Ed might be forced into a position where his alchemy meant nothing, and Havoc's larger natural size would put his tinier version to shame.

Havoc had surprised Roy with his response. With rosy cheeks and a distant alcohol induced stare, he had muttered, "I'm scared to see him up close." Havoc had gestured to his right arm, and Roy remembered how quickly he stopped laughing. "I keep thinking to myself, what if he takes it all off, and I see something that stays with me for the rest of me, you know, sir? Like in war?" Havoc's eyes had drooped closed as he spoke, and Roy was glad. He knew his smile was replaced with a blank saddened look. "Ed said he was in pretty bad shape after the accident, but that's all he ever says about it. I don't know what pretty bad shape is, but I know a lot of guys who have taken some pretty bad wounds, and none of them have two false limbs now, you know?"

Roy had ended the serious conversation by raising a short joke, and in intoxicated tunnel vision Havoc forgot the dark topic. He busted out laughing, and later fell asleep with his beer slipping from his hands.

Havoc remembered Ed stepped onto the scale and reaching almost two hundred pounds, but Roy had Ed's file, and knew that was not true. During Edward's enlistment physical they had required the boy be weighed without the automail, and the number scared Roy.

 _73.92lbs_. Roy received that report on a Thursday, and it was raining. For a long period of time he sat at his desk staring down at Ed's physical. A single thought looping through his head. _What have you done. What have you done._ How could seventy-four pounds of anything, be ready for life, and worse, military service as a state alchemist? _What have you done, you selfish fuck._

Roy grabbed Ed's lifted hand, and tipped Ed's beer can away from his mouth. "Havoc, now you're staying the night," Roy said angrily.

"What for!" Havoc said. "I have a date!"

"He's a rambling drunk," Roy said, taking Ed's beer away. Ed let it go with irritated indifference, and stepped back wiping his mouth and catching his breath. "And I have a date too."

"He's a what?"

"A Talker! A Talker!" Roy said, gesturing angrily to Ed with the half empty beer can. A trickle of amber colored liquid sloshed out, over his knuckles, and dribbled to Ed's counter. "When he's drunk, he doesn't shut the hell up."

"Let's not be rude or anything," Ed said sarcastically, plopping down in a stool. He gave a large deeply set belch, and leaned his head to the counter.

"How do you know that?" Havoc asked Roy. "Ed, how often are you getting trashed?"

"I wish you would both get the hell out of here," Ed said miserably.

"He called me shortly after Alphonse was transmuted and I had to put the phone down he was talking so long. Someone," Roy gave Havoc a blaming glare, "gave him quite a bit to drink actually."

"I wasn't drunk, you prick," Ed snapped, jerking his head up. "You're such a famous ass, Colonel. I call you one time for some advice and this is the shit I have to take." It was not just one time Ed had called, and they were not short calls. The fact of the matter was, Ed didn't know many people, and he trusted even fewer. When it came to mass taboo and illegal activity, Roy was one of the only people Ed believed beyond a doubt would not do him harm. "If you want to do this shit, fine. You want to detain me to my place, and separate Alphonse, putting him in extreme physical danger, tying my hands until this blows up, than fuck me, but I'm sure as hell going to be tanked for most of it." Ed's words were already beginning to slur, and Havoc gave Roy an unsure glance.

Roy lowered his voice, and said, "I didn't really put the phone down."

* * *

Ed slept on the couch of his apartment where he passed out after nearly three hours of rambling. Most of it was incomprehensible equations, and random musings about molecules, but a nearly unbearable forty minutes had Ed trying to rhyme things to the periodic table.

Roy found Ed the next day, stomach down with a saturated puddle of drool the size of a cup saucer under his face. Roy did not stay the night. He assigned Havoc command, and went home. The only order he left was to call him the next morning with an update. When it reached two in the afternoon, and there were still no calls, he went over to investigate for himself.

Neither Havoc nor Ed had made any attempt to hide the evidence for this disobedience, and eight empty beer cans littered the coffee table between them. Roy had the exhausted sense he should have expected as much, and now in hindsight, felt dumb for not issuing some type of regulating guideline as to what exactly Ed could do while detained.

Roy looked to Havoc, who was sleeping in Ed's living room chair with a near empty bottle of Jack Daniels. That was a lot of whiskey to put away, but Havoc was a soldier, and he was good at alcohol and cards.

Roy called to Havoc in a firm commanding voice, "Havoc?"

Havoc gave a slight hitch of breath and cracked an eye. He looked first to Ed and seemed relieved Ed was old cold, before lifting his gaze to Roy who stood alongside Ed's couch. "What time is it?" Havoc asked, voice stale and muffled.

"Just after fourteen hundred."

Havoc shifted his weight slowly. He stretched and then rubbed at his face. Roy waited patiently. Havoc set the whiskey bottle on the floor and cracked his neck before sighing the content and lazy sigh of a cat. "Ed," Havoc said, pointing at Ed's drooling self, "likes to pack it away." Roy glanced skeptically at Ed. "Those are all his," Havoc said, pointing to the empty beer cans.

Roy narrowed his gaze disapprovingly. "You let him have eight beers?"

"Let?" Havoc mocked, lifting his eyebrows. "I didn't let anything." Havoc gave a scoffing chuckle, as if Roy's insinuation was ignorant. He climbed to his feet slowly, and raised his arms over his head for another stretch. "First off, I didn't even bring eight beers." Havoc left the living room in a slow shuffle towards Ed's bathroom. "I brought the single cheap six-pack, and the Jack Daniels for me. I mean, I purposely brought him piss thin beer."

Roy followed Havoc to Ed's bathroom doorway. Havoc went to the vanity and turned on the sink while looking at himself in the mirror. "You were right, Colonel, he's an entertaining drunk." Havoc laughed to himself and leaned to the sink to wash up. He splashed up two handfuls of water, and wiped his face down before shutting off the tap. "He was talking, and singing, and really all over the place. He was pounding those things faster than I could count." Roy closed his eyes and scolded himself. _Again, no foresight._ "He had too many too fast and threw up a couple of times, and then passed out around zero one hundred." Roy was glad to hear the madness ended at a reasonable hour. "That's early for me so I was up a bit later." Havoc checked his teeth in the mirror and then stepped forward and grabbed the door preparing to close it. "Next thing I know, he wakes back up at four, still buzzed," Havoc laughed, "asks me if I'll let him sneak out, tries bribing me a bit, and then when I didn't budge, he devoured the rest of the leftovers, and pounded the remaining cans."

"So he had the alcohol here?" Roy asked. He would address this with Ed later.

Havoc nodded. "I'm going to take a quick shower, then I can go, right?"

Roy nodded. The agreement was only for the day. So he planned to watch Ed for the rest of the afternoon. "That's fine," Roy said. "I'm going to step out and get him something to eat. Do you want anything?"

Havoc shut the door and Roy heard the shower turn on. "Yeah! There is a little deli down the street! If you could grab me a sandwich and some coffee, that would be great!"

Roy agreed, and on the condition Havoc would make sure Ed did not escape, left.

The deli at the end of the block sold freshly prepared sandwiches, and Roy ordered Havoc two. With a little something extra he was also able to get them to prepare a to-go breakfast for Ed, and he brought home three large coffees. When he returned Havoc was on the phone. Ed was still sleeping, but had curled up, and pulled one of the couch's pillows over his head.

Havoc was thrilled with his meal. He opened a wrapped sandwich and started eating while he finished reporting. Ed had made some statements about Alphonse Havoc thought were important, and they included: Alphonse doesn't know where social boundaries are, Alphonse can not manage on his own, and I need to get him back no matter what the fucking Colonel says.

Havoc left with his coffee while Roy mulled these over. Ed seemed obsessively paranoid, and he was hoping today would ease Ed's anxiety and give Ed time to rest. Although he didn't plan on that being rest from a hang-over, it was at least a step in the right direction. Roy set Ed's breakfast container on the counter with the coffee and went to the boy.

Ed smelled like cheap beer, and was snoring under the pillow on his face. He was sleeping in his clothes, and looked rather disheveled when Roy bent down and gave Ed's automail arm a friendly smack. "Ed?" Roy kept his tone lowered. He only wanted to wake the boy, not yell at him. "Ed?" The snoring stopped, and Ed stretched his legs out with the metal hand scratching lazily at his chest. "Ed, how are you feeling?" Roy stepped back and waited.

Ed awoke slowly, and pressed the pillow off before lifting his head. His expression was slack with exhaustion, and he glanced about in a stupor before rasping out, "Where's Havoc?"

"He's been dismissed."

Ed lifted his gaze to Roy and turned his mouth down in a sour frown. "What time is it?"

"Late afternoon."

Ed nodded and covered his eyes with his hand before laying his head back down. "Am I still being detained?"

"Yes."

"Can I call Alphonse now?" Ed sounded half asleep.

"In a moment," he said. "Let's go, get up."

"I don't feel good," Ed muttered. "I'm going to stay here." Ed waved limply for Roy to go away.

"You need to eat." Roy paused after his statement and gave Ed a chance to obey, but Ed groaned into his hand and curled into a tight fetal position. It was clear he didn't want to respond, and Roy sighed heavily. His first response was to harshly order Ed to his feet with a tone that meant obedience was not optional. He knew if he did this, Ed would listen, because Ed understood he had to. However, that was not what today was about, so instead Roy left to the kitchen. He retrieved Ed's coffee and lowered it down to the boy. "Ed, take a sip of coffee." Ed slid two fingers off his eye and peeked at the extended cup skeptically. "Go ahead," Roy said kindly. The smell of the robust brew was steaming upward from the cup. It was a comforting dark aroma, and Roy saw Ed inhale with interest. "Hold onto the cup, it's full."

Ed took the cup and carefully lowered it while raising his head so he could sip. There was nothing like warm coffee after a night of drinking, and Ed sat up in a slow leaning slouch in order to keep sipping his cup.

Roy washed a fork from Ed's sink, and brought Ed the Styrofoam breakfast take-out box.

Ed was still half asleep and barely thinking when it was offered. He took the food wordlessly, and set it in his lap with all attention on the coffee cup flush to his face. Roy waited, assuming Havoc's discarded chair, and crossing his legs. The smell of beer rising off Ed was offensive, and the boy looked deranged. His bangs were matted to the cheek he had slept on, and his eyes were heavy, and barely open. Gradually, over the course of a minute, things changed as Ed sat ritually sipping his coffee. Like the sun slowly coming over the horizon Ed's brain was returning to function like an old motor in need of new oil and fuel. The process was weak and sputtering, but Ed's eyes managed to crest half way, and when they did, he flipped open the take-out box and grabbed a sausage link with his automail hand.

Breakfast was a four-egg omelet, hash browns, two slices of toast, and two sausage links. Without doing more than lowering the coffee cup, Ed stuffed an entire link into his mouth, and sat chewing with his eyes closed and his head lulling gently to the right as if he were falling asleep.

"Can…I call…" Ed muffled, chewing.

"Not right now."

Ed gave a sleepy yawn, and for a moment his eyes returned to a half-lidded tired gaze. He pinched the coffee cup between his knees, took the fork with his right hand, and grabbed the second sausage link with his left.

Roy had seen Ed eat with two hands before, and he thought it was odd. Ed preferred his right, but managed silverware in either, and began stabbing eggs while slowly pushing the sausage link into his mouth as if it were a blender.

"You look like a monkey when you eat like that," Roy said, smiling.

Ed cracked an eye, chewing slowly. "When have you ever seen a monkey."

"I've seen a few." Roy wasn't going to share this was in Ishval. On the streets, in small packs, there were tiny monkeys, and they would fist food in each hand and eat interchangeably. Many of the soldiers used to feed them, tossing bread off to the side the way you would for birds. On some days during war, those monkeys were the best things they had. "They grab food in both their hands like that," Roy said.

Ed finished his sausage and used the automail to lift the box closer to his face so he could shovel in his eggs. With his eyes closed and his expression slack with exhaustion, his appetite seemed to be the only thing fully awake.

Roy waited patiently until the eggs, sausage, and hash browns were gone. Then Ed sat holding his coffee and two pieces of toast with the abandoned take-out box on his coffee table like a castle amongst empty cans.

Ed had stacked his toast, so he could eat both at the same time. His eyes were open just a sliver, and he sat chewing and staring at Roy with Roy staring back.

"What time is it?" Ed asked, swallowing what was in his mouth before destroying the middle of the toast in three whopping bites.

"Late, approaching fifteen hundred."

Ed swallowed his new mouthful. "Have you talked to Hawkeye?"

"I have not." Ed stopped chewing as if he found this alarming, but Roy didn't. "If she needed me, she would have called. I don't think I need to check up on her."

"Just on me," Ed said sourly.

"I'm not checking up on you, Ed, I'm restraining your mobility." Roy smiled. "That's different."

Ed crammed the rest of his toast into his mouth with an irritated snort, and sat chewing with bulging cheeks.

"How's your head?" Roy asked.

"It's pounding," Ed said miserably. Roy pointed to the stray beers and raised his eyebrows in an accusing manner. "Those are mostly Havoc's," Ed lied quickly. Roy narrowed his gaze with disappointment, and Ed cleared his throat. "Okay, they're mine." He was too tired to fight, and submit quickly. "But Havoc gave them to me." Roy kept his narrowed gaze and Ed let this lie linger a bit. He cleared his throat again, and innocently picked his coffee back up for a long sip. As he drank he kept his eyes in the cup, testing Roy's accusatory expression for weakness before conceding. Ed finished drinking and peeked over before setting it down with a heavy surrendering sigh. "Okay, some of them were mine."

"Do you think it's appropriate you have alcohol in your apartment while under the drinking age?" Roy asked calmly.

"Do I think it's appropriate?" Ed asked, giving a soft chuckle. Ed lifted his flesh hand and scratched at his neck before leaning his head back on the couch and closing his eyes. "I don't think I'm a good judge of what's appropriate."

"What message do you think that sends to Alphonse?" Roy tried a different tactic.

"Ouch," Ed said, scrunching his expression into an exaggerated wince. "Below the belt ladies and gentlemen, below the belt." Ed cracked an eye to gauge Roy's response to his comedy, and smiled sloppily. Roy kept his expression blank even though he found Ed's shenanigans mildly entertaining. "Yes, big mighty Colonel." Ed lifted a lazy hand and gave an even sloppier solute before dropping it back to his lap. "It is wrong of me to have beer in the house as a minor, and not a good idea to drink it in front of my even younger brother who sees me as an impeccable role model." Ed was smiling as he spoke. He reached down and comfortably adjusted the crotch of his pants, before saying, "I realize he looks up to me in every single way." Roy kept his stoic glare. "Great that I am," Ed added, grinning. "I shouldn't show him the vicious dark side of military life by having a beer anywhere near him."

With a tone crisp with anger, Roy said, "Ed, I want to have a serious discussion." He put a stop to the nonsense when he realized Ed might keep elaborating with examples growing more and more extreme, because this was part of Ed's humor, and Ed thought this was funny.

"I am having a serious discussion," Ed countered flawlessly, still smiling.

Roy lifted his hand in a scolding point and Ed looked at it when it aimed at him. "No alcohol in the house," he said firmly. Ed's smile faded, and he fell into a sullen silence. "I mean it, Ed," Roy said. He understood Ed's silence was comprehension and not agreement, so he tightened his gaze. "Ed, what did I just say?"

"No beer in the house."

"Alcohol."

"No alcohol in the house." Shadowing statements was also not compliance.

"So what will you do in response to my statement," Roy asked kindly. This didn't have to be an order-giving order-receiving conversation if Ed wanted to be tactful, but instead Ed shifted his weight a bit uncomfortably, and averted his gaze.

"I'm going to take a shower." Ed leaned forward to stand up, but Roy lifted his palm for this to stop, and Ed let his head droop in irritated defeat. He exhaled sideways, to playfully blow his bangs away from his face, and softly muttered, "Okay, I won't have alcohol in the house."

"At all."

"At all," Ed agreed miserably.

Roy gave a satisfied nod, and gestured again to the empty cans. "Why so many?" he asked with a bit of concern. With a bit of dry sarcasm he said, "Generally, it's not well received when we exploit the laws we help enforce as if exempt." Ed pushed himself to his feet groaning in conversational protest. "Why are you drinking?"

"Everyone drinks."

"Ed." Roy stood up when Ed wobbled his way from the living room to the bedroom. "You would be surprised how many of our acquaintances are closet alcoholics. It's a dangerous thing for a solider to look at alcohol as respite."

Ed was in his bedroom opening his dresser drawers and collecting new clothing. He pulled out a fresh tee shirt with a snorting laugh. "I would in fact not be surprised, Colonel," Ed said, sounding a bit smug. "Who do you think gave me the brewskis? Our non-alcoholic acquaintances?" Roy was not impressed with Ed's deliberate lack of acknowledgement for his caution, and even less impressed with the teasing slang. "Look," Ed said, grabbing himself new underwear and another pair of his infamous leather pants. "One beer isn't going to hurt me now and then. You don't have a problem with me drinking socially." Ed tossed this forward like ammunition.

Roy had stood witness to Ed being handed beers at external social functions, and never protested. Now he understood Ed was throwing this back in his face on purpose, because he had approved of the behavior. The very first time it happened, at a barbecue in Central's park, Ed had taken the offered beer can with a bit of surprise, and then glanced in Roy's direction. The look was subtle, but there was only one reason for it, to seek approval, and Roy had remained silent. He had smiled, and tipped his own can towards Ed before moving on in conversation. He was happy the soldiers included the boy, and watched Ed pop his first can of beer and sip curiously before curling his expression with disgust Ed tried to hide. Now Ed was trying to turn his generosity into hypocrisy.

"Are you trying to abuse the kindness of your commanding officer?" Roy asked, throwing back his own bullet. If Ed wanted to manipulate gifts he was giving, then they would stop being given.

Ed heard this loud and clear. He leaned into his dresser drawer to close it wearing a wide grin. "I would never dream of doing such a thing," Ed said, holding his laundry.

The phone began ringing and Ed jerked to life: _Alphonse!_

Roy gestured Ed leave to the bathroom and went to the kitchen phone. "Take your shower," he said, keeping a kind, but firm tone. "I'll get it."

Ed went quickly from the bedroom to the bathroom, and shut the door as if the ringing phone was unbearable to him. Roy lifted the receiver with an untrusting gaze trained on the closed bathroom door, and paused. He waited until he heard the shower water start, and the shower curtain be drawn back, before setting the receiver to his ear, but his wait caused the caller to disconnect. They tried again in fifteen minutes and Roy was ready. He had waited at the counter enjoying his own coffee, and answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Sir?" Hawkeye sounded surprised Roy picked up Ed's phone. "I haven't heard from either one of you and I was getting worried. I expected Ed to call at the crack of dawn."

"Yes, well…" Roy glanced over at the discarded beer cans. "He drank himself into a temporary coma. I dismissed Havoc about an hour ago, and Ed's in the shower now. How is everything going?" Roy asked this feeling optimistic, but Hawkeye was silent, and that silence yanked the ground from beneath his feet. "Is everything all right?"

"Things are…a bit more complicated than they appeared," she said, lowering her voice, and sounding almost ashamed. "In fact that's why I'm calling. Alphonse has quite a bit of blood in his urine." Roy was shocked. "Last night he…shared this with me, and did not seem overly concerned. In fact he asked me specifically not to call and inform Ed, because he was worried Ed wouldn't be able to concentrate on his work if he knew. Alphonse seemed to think this would pass."

"It hasn't?" Roy asked, feeling an edge of true concern bloom, both for Alphonse, and for Ed. He didn't honestly entertain the fact separating Alphonse might harm him the way Ed had said. Surely Ed's insanity was just that. How could you assume someone organizing blueberries into tiny stacks of containers had a level-headed objective grasp on the situation?

"It's gotten worse. He's…" Hawkeye was struggling to explain. "This must have been what Ed meant. Why it was so hard for him to put it into words."

"I have faith you can do a better job," Roy said impatiently. He needed her to verbalize this accurately. He needed it put into terms he could understand!

"He appears fine, but he's not. The slightest thing threatens his stationary pendulum, and sends things swinging. I had to help him, sir," she said, lowering her voice again, wanting this to be very private. "…in the bathroom, the way you would a young child, but he's not young in his mind, and he understood what was happening. At this point, I need to get him to the hospital."

"Oh my god," Roy said, before he could stop himself. He reached up and grabbed his jaw covering his mouth. This was like a cold slap in the face, and he could only imagine what Ed was going to do.

"Hawkeye, why would you have waited so long!" he whispered, sliding his hand up to grab his temples. He could hear the shower water running peacefully. "Why did you let things escalate!"

"Sir, I didn't. It spiraled out of hand this quickly!" she said, whispering back. "This morning, when the blood was still in his urine he asked me to please look at it, and tell him what I thought, and if he had to call Ed. It looked like he'd taken a kidney shot, and nothing more. So that's what I told him." Roy rubbed at his face, feeling extremely uncomfortable with Hawkeye being put in this position. He hadn't handed her Alphonse expecting, or wanting, her to be forced to nursemaid a fourteen year old boy. "But now, just a few minutes ago, he cried out while urinating and it seems there are blood clots in his system. I don't know why that would be, but you understand that means he has to be taken to a doctor immediately." She paused, and then even softer, she said, "I know what this will do to Ed, sir. I'm so sorry."

"He's going to go berserk," Roy said, rubbing at his face. "With good cause." He laughed softly at the irony of it. "We're trained professionals." He was in shock they did so poorly in less than twenty-four hours.

"Sir, I can honestly say I don't know what started or increased the bleeding. I've been analyzing things since we've arrived home, and listening to what Ed was saying, I'm honestly starting to believe it may have been as simple as us walking to the car, taking it to my place, and going inside. There is almost nothing Alphonse can do safely, and that means there is almost nothing he can do independently without some type of complication. This is why Ed has been so paranoid."

"I understand," Roy said, closing his eyes and preparing for what was to come. _He did not understand. He did not think he could understand this madness._ "Take him to Central General, they're familiar with the Elrics, and we'll meet you there."

"What are you going to do?" Hawkeye asked, voice thick with sorrow and concern.

"I'm going to tell him," Roy said, giving a brief shrug of his shoulders. "And he's going to go berserk."

Roy caught movement in his peripheral and looked up in time to spot Ed approaching. Ed was fresh from the shower with his hair in thin wet strains sweeping about his shoulders. Wearing boxers the automail was shining with moisture, and Ed was casually tugging his tee shirt on, and looped it over his head before he caught Roy's last few words, and stopped dead.

In the middle of dressing Ed froze, and lifted a slow demanding gaze. His eyes were sharp with controlled worry, and he started, before whispering, "Who is going to go berserk?"

Roy hung up the phone, and turned to face Ed.

Ed sensed something was wrong, and that it was bad, and Roy felt a quiet guilt seep into his stomach he had not felt since he yelled at a small twelve-year-old in a blood stained alley one raining afternoon. _With good cause,_ his mind repeated. They were responsible for this one.

Softly, and with extreme dread, Ed asked, "Me?" He closed his eyes, and cringed deeply in slow motion. "What happened?" Ed asked, dragging his shirt down his torso as if working his arms was painful. "How bad?"

Roy didn't know what he could do to make things better, so he lifted his hands in a soft surrendering gesture and was frank. "Hawkeye is taking Alphonse to the hospital right now."

Ed choked out a weak squeaking sound, and opened his eyes in a stare of absolute horror.

"He has blood, and what they think are blood clots, in his urine, but other than that," Ed bolted to his bedroom, and Roy paused, uncertain, before lifting his voice, "but other than that, he appears fine!"

Ed grabbed a small fully-packed duffle bag from the foot of Alphonse's bed before stomping back toward the kitchen. "Well," Ed said, voice loud and thick with anger. "Let me just share how not fine he is!" Ed flew past Roy to the kitchen doorway. "I can't believe you let this happen!" Ed was wiggling into flip flops, and Roy was shocked. "I can't believe you did this to me! To us!" Ed stopped working into his flip flops and turned to Roy. His eyes were blazing with betrayal and something very close to horror. "To us!" Ed repeated. "Because you wouldn't listen to me! To what I was saying, and how fucking important it is!" Ed grabbed the apartment keys off the counter, and Roy understood Ed was leaving on autopilot without his pants. Quickly he left to the bathroom and snatched them off Ed's vanity.

Ed was already half way down the apartment hallway when Roy exited. He rushed after the boy, but Ed was furious. "I fucking told you this would happen!" Ed was moving at an almost inhumane pace. The Elric apartment was on the second floor, and Ed was flying down the stairs with his flip flops like fire crackers.

"Ed, you have to believe she's been incredibly careful with him," Roy said, coming to match Ed's pace and offering Ed his pants.

Ed yanked them away, and paused just long enough to throw a finger in Roy's face. "Don't fucking talk to me, please," Ed said, heaving quick strangled breaths as if in pain. "Just don't fucking talk to me." This was a beg as much as it was a threat, and Roy could see the fear, real and rapid fear in Ed's face. Ed's hand was shaking, and he looked desperately in need of help.

"Okay," Roy said softly, giving an understanding nod. "But I'm driving."

* * *

Thank you.

Chapter Three: _Guilty,_ will be posed 12/23/16. Enjoy the lovely holiday season.

Please review.


	4. Guilty

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Three  
 _Guilty_

\- mirage -

Alphonse's room was at the end of a long populated hall on the eleventh floor of Central General. It was a chaotic length spotted with five nurses' stations all dense with staff and patients.

Stepping off the elevator Roy stood at Ed's side and scanned the hall for means of direction. On the ride over, Ed had kicked into his pants hanging tight to Alphonse's overnight bag in a state of deep concentration. It was clear he was panicking, and going to great lengths to keep himself calm, so Roy tried to aid. _It was the least he could do after causing this, somehow._ He took the lead, navigating the hospital, and speaking to the reception units they passed because Ed looked as if he would explode if one more person obstructed him.

Seated outside Alphonse's room was Hawkeye. In a flattering dress shirt and jeans she looked melancholy. Distant, expectant of bad news, and Roy recognized the expression. It was the same look she wore when she ran out of ammunition but still clung to her empty rifle. _Defeated, but determined._

Roy leaned to Ed's side and pointed. "There she is."

Ed was visually panning the hall with frustration because he didn't recognize Hawkeye out of uniform, but to Roy, Hawkeye looked like Hawkeye.

As if she heard them, Hawkeye looked up, gaze was heavy with worry. Spotting them through the activity, her expression became worse, and she gave a quick discrete shake of her head.

Roy paused with confusion. _Bad idea,_ her expression said. _It's a bad idea_. Roy went still, trying to determine what she meant and what was needed, before realizing Ed was no longer with him. Ed was half way down the hall, locked on Hawkeye as if she were a target.

"Hawkeye, is he in there?" Ed asked, rushing to her and pointing to the closest patient room.

Hawkeye stood quickly, and in a soft but alarmed voice said, "Yes he is, Ed," and almost in the same breath, she added, "Let's wait for the Colonel." Ed was on autopilot and went directly to Alphonse's door. His speed was so committed he barely stopped when Hawkeye pushed herself to the doorframe, grabbing the doorknob as Ed did. "Ed, don't go in. I think we have," she silenced when Roy arrived, and restarted with, "I think now is not a good time." She gestured to the hall exit, and Roy understood she wanted them to leave.

 _The bad idea was their arrival._

"What's going on? Why?" Roy asked. _Had it really become that bad?_ What could have happened now that was worse than preexisting events? _They were only separated for a few hours!_ A fleeting image of Alphonse sitting in his hospital bed with fat black stitching sewing his head back onto his neck flittered through Roy's mind, and he slapped it aside. "What's his diagnosis?"

This question sent Ed off the deep end. "I don't need his fucking diagnosis!" Ed snarled, yanking his hand away from Hawkeye's and shoving her grip off the door. He threw a vicious gaze between them. "Don't interfere anymore."

Hawkeye pushed in front of Alphonse's door, desperate for Ed's attention. "Ed, the doctors are very concerned with Alphonse's condition and bruises. I think you should fall back, I think they're suspicious of harm. Agitating them wouldn't be wise." Hawkeye was almost whispering, but her voice was fast. She was trying to share an entire narrative, and her few words were painting a canvas of air-raid siren alarm in Roy's mind. Bruises, harm, fall back. _Things were going to look very bad, and very bad quickly. That was reason enough to travel into the sticks to see a doctor wasn't it? What else was Ed hiding?_

"You knew about this?" Roy said, grabbing Ed's shoulder with angry strength, and jerking Ed to face him. "How bad is it going to be?" Roy felt a sudden loss of focus, and the juvenile vulnerability that came when he disobeyed an order. The thought of Alphonse on a ventilator, or in a coma, came rushing ahead, and it left the chalky taste of wondering just how accurate that was? _Maybe she wanted them to fall back to protect Ed,_ and falling back was not desertion. At the very least it guaranteed a civilized appearance rather than this unstable breach of Alphonse's room. _If things were bad, Ed might need a minute. He might need to be briefed before entering._

Ed did not think he needed to wait, and broke into wild argument. He tossed Roy's grip off with a swing of his forearm, and then the metal palm was flush to Roy's chest and Roy felt like the eight ball behind a billiard pool cue. Their arguing was causing a commotion, Central General was not the multi-tier soldier-kennel of Central Command. It was filled by civilians, for civilians, and violence startled them the way violence and profanity did not startle the military.

A nurse was the first to arrive, but two doctors came with her, and everyone was talking. There were a few subtle attempts by hospital staff to relocate them from the hall with communal phrases such as, _if you'll just come this way,_ and, _if we could all calm down._ It suggested that things were so bad you would journey to a separate room and sit behind closed doors to discuss how bad it was. That anything more palpable was out of the question, and Ed lost it.

The metal hand thrust forward, and Roy felt his ball roll back into the table. _They're not included in this_ , Ed said quickly, disassociating himself. The metal finger shot out in a vicious point toward Alphonse's door. _I have his health care proxy, I am the legal guardian. I want to know what the hell is going on here!_ There was one last attempt to remove them from the hall, but Ed interrupted it with a loud, _Are you the asshole in charge?_

Operating within a medical facility, was much like stepping into someone else's arena, and Roy surprised himself with the speed of his own comprehension when he spotted a pair of handcuffs uprooting from the pocket of an unknown man in their crowd.

It came with ease, like a mantra, and it started with his professional title, his military status, Edward's military status, and their jurisdiction. He was lifting his badge for comparison. _Hold on there, you'll want to tread lightly._ For the moment, their adversary was unknown. _We have some authority too. Can we reach a political understanding?_

The unidentified man moved quickly, straight away he was cuffing Ed, and Roy found Ed strangely compliant for a person who looked as if they were living through a jugular aneurysm. Ed roared a furious, _What the hell do you think you are doing!,_ but was somehow smart enough, even in hysterics, to know resistive conflict with a legal party would make things worse.

Roy could hear himself talking, demanding explanation with fierce respectful precision. Hawkeye was at his side, engaged in argument, but somehow repeating with urgency for him to help the situation.

 _Yes, let's do more, 'helping.'_

"Roy!" Ed raised his voice over the man reading him his rights. "You know how you're always telling me to get myself out of my messes!" Ed yanked at his wrists, and the cuffs clattered together like chains "Seeing as you got me into this, why don't you do it!"

"Edward, don't panic, we're going to help you," Hawkeye said, grabbing Ed's shoulder.

"The way you helped yesterday!"

She pulled her hand back looking stung.

* * *

When Roy managed to get a handle on everything it was hours later that evening. With Hawkeye he was led to the holding cell Ed was locked in.

Central's Police Station was grand in size and structure. As one of the main transportation hubs for incarcerated offenders, it housed three holding blocks. In long rectangular rooms, the general, nonviolent populous crowded the main cells: Two large, floor-to-ceiling, iron-bared boxes, while especially violent offenders and alchemist were housed separately, outlining the walls in what resembled traditional prison cells.

They granted no more space than an individual required, and were tight six-by-six boxes with a bench along the back. Ed was slouched onto his looking extremely disgusted before they arrived, and almost potent, when they appeared in front of him.

Roy had asked Hawkeye not to speak until Ed was calm. He knew she wanted to apologize and tell Ed how badly she felt, but he wasn't confident Ed could keep himself respectful while so agitated. While technicality placed them at fault, it did nothing to sway his instinct to penalize Ed if he was cruel to her.

"Ed, I know you're not that happy with us right now," Roy said, addressing things openly.

Hawkeye's female presence in the holding room received some cat calls, and Roy's uniform was catching even more attention. He had changed into it earlier to help expedite data collection and response from miscellaneous staff. Dressed as a colonel, people responded better than when you simply claimed to be one.

Ed lifted cold eyes and stared at Roy. Shrugged into the corner of his cell wearing leather pants, a simple logo tee shirt, and flip flops, Ed looked out of place. The handcuffs painting him tired and dirty.

"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be, but I need you to focus right now. I'm going to discuss some things with you."

Ed was sandwiched between two occupied cells. Separated only by the metal bars, the man on the right became interested. He leaned forward where he sat, and sounding drunk asked, "You getting him out?" He smiled, goofily. "Can you waive my charges too?"

Roy gave Hawkeye the discrete nod she expected, and she left to the Officer Desk monitoring the holding room.

Ed lulled his head towards his cell neighbor and in a loud and sharp tone, shouted the word, "Shut!" paused, expression hideous, before continuing with, "the fuck up, asshole."

The man reeled back with surprise. Ed looked to have been mute and motionless since his incarceration, and this sudden ferocious outburst did not go unnoticed by his cellmates. Under the weight of Ed's dark glare the man slid a cautiously inch from their shared metal bars, and went silent.

Ripe with hateful poison Ed was appeased with the submissive response, and returned his gaze to Roy. Head tilted forward, chin to chest, the piercing gold of Ed's irises narrowed into something chilling, and it was a look of absolute disgust.

Roy tried to see past this. He stepped forward and casually grabbed one of Ed's cell bars. He planned to erect several glass privacy walls and wasn't ready to begin conversation until he did so. It was sensitive. All of it, and everything he planned to discuss. It had the weight of a hundred stones, and desperately he was trying to ignore the cramp coming down into his shoulders, as if he'd slung the heft of it into a sack to carry, rather than slipping it neatly into a thin manila folder.

 _The anger that had come into his stomach, he tried to ignore even more._

Beginning light conversation, Roy lifted his gaze upward, studying the construction of Ed's cell, and said, "What do you think, Ed?"

"I think you're going to want to place some distance between us when they let me out."

Roy returned his gaze to Ed with surprise. _Ed was a chained tiger, waiting for a link to break._ The only objective his pounce.

Hawkeye returned to Roy's side and gave a nod. She had advised the police staff of their identities, described the nature of the visit as classified, and informed them that Flame Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang would erect several temporary walls dissecting their room without damaging the structural integrity of the building in order to speak with his solider. The police were hesitant, but agreed because they didn't have a choice when it came to the jurisdiction of the military.

Roy stepped back and transmuted the ground, and Ed watched. The walls went up seamlessly, exciting the room to loud shouts and whistles that stopped abruptly when everything sealed. The glass box sanctioned absolute silence.

Looking mildly impressed even while angry and uncomfortable, Ed asked, "It's that fucking bad?"

Roy took a manila file from beneath his arm and opened it. "I've gained access to Alphonse's hospital admittance report, medical exam, and the charges being brought against you."

"What the fuck am I being charged with!" Ed asked, sitting up and resting his weight forward.

"On the ride over I was trying to figure out how to explain this and where to start."

Ed lifted his hands in gesture they halt, and his cuffs rattled. "You know, Alphonse's private information is not your business, Roy," Ed said angrily. "You don't own him the way you do me. It's not right for you to pry into his shit. That is off limits, who allowed you access? I should sue their asses, and then sue what's left of your nosy ass once I'm done kicking it!"

Roy lifted a sheet of paper, and slid it through the bars so it could hang from his grasp like a warrant. "You're being charged with abuse of a minor, Ed, and what we're trying to figure out is if those charges will be physical abuse, neglect and endangerment, sexual abuse, or all three."

Ed reeled back. "Those fuckers, what! A—w—what! Are you —sexual what!" Ed tipped his head toward his lap trying to collect himself.

Hawkeye couldn't handle remaining a spectator, and stepped forward grabbing the bars. "Edward, we don't think you are guilty. The Colonel is trying to find a way to understand this information so he can help you."

"Understand it!" Ed screamed to his lap. He leaned to his knees and grabbed his head with his cuffed hands. "What! Fucking—That's a bit fucking exaggerated! I mean! It's—what are you saying to me exactly, I don't fucking understand this, what do they think I did!" Ed looked up, and his expression was stricken with concern. "I am not abusing my own brother, no one has even talked to me! Isn't that jumping to—I mean!" Ed leapt to his feet and charged the bars. Roy quickly retracted the paper because he knew Ed would rip it to shreds.

"Okay," Roy said. The heat in his stomach bulged uncomfortably. It was the sensation of needing to belch with the understanding there would be no end to the expulsion.

Roy envisioned the small font of his name and title the way it appeared on military forms. Respectfully beneath it, Edward's name was printed as an extension, as a belonging, as a projection of his command, and nothing made you want to beat the living day-lights out of someone more than their ability to soil your reputation with their faults. "Let's evaluate things," Roy said, making a last attempt to hold discussion without a hint of his anger. _How much of this could have been avoided? Today, yesterday, weeks ago, years ago? Since day one, how much?_

Ed's arm shot through the bars as much as possible with the cuffs. "Those fucking pedants! Give me my charges!" His futile attempt to snatch papers died as quickly as it was born. "You have to tell them they have it wrong," Ed said, tone dropping into a near whisper, anger disintegrating into something near groveling. "You know I'm not doing that. You know I'm not doing anything like that! Why am I still in here! Get me out!"

Roy closed the folder in an angry snap, and the act of aspersion made Ed snarl.

"Fuck you, Roy! Fucking get me out right now!"

"Ed, I don't understand how to interpret this." Roy gave the folder a meaningful shake. "I'm very angry." He stated the obvious. "Are you following me?"

"I'm not a fucking idiot!" _Ed was going a mile a minute._

"You need to explain this." Roy's anger was arriving. It came into his face making it hard and impatient, and Ed's gaze changed with comprehension. _Suddenly the cell bars seemed taller and wider than they had before._ In a tone incredibly harsh, Roy asked, "Do you understand, Elric?" _Do you understand! Do you understand the shit we are in! The shit you have brought us!_

"I understand," Ed whispered.

"I'm reading this, and by all accounts there is material indicative of criminal offense."

Ed buckled. His knees weakened, dropping him an inch, and his expression crumbled for a moment of desperate weakness. Quickly his eyes darted to Hawkeye looking for support and companionship, and she couldn't take it.

"Edward, the Colonel doesn't mean it like that," she said, struggling with her empathy.

Roy could suddenly feel her desire to reach through the bars and hug his youngest in command. Hugs were not what we needed at the moment, and he spoke a crisp, "Don't interrupt me, Lieutenant."

She was startled with the tone. It was penetrating, and she flinched the slightest tilt further from Ed's cell in obedience, and with her own strict discipline, went silent.

Roy would apologize for this later, he committed to memory that he would, but right now he wanted Ed to face a powerful and unyielding presence outside the cell he was locked inside. He wanted honest immediate answers. The summary of Ed's allegations were so egregious, they brought him immediate fury, but the supporting evidence caused a very different emotion.

The initial had been immediate opposition. He found the case briefing inflated and preposterous, but the supporting data, and worse, Alphonse's questioning, left him mystified. The evidence was stark, but not being able to reject the validity of the source did not allow him to accept the results. He found a stomach crushing sense of frustration he hadn't felt since the war. A place where bad things happened to innocent people, and there was something about this that carried the same wallowing stench.

Roy flipped the folder open, and took a controlled breath. "Let's start at the top." He felt their time ticking away on them. They needed to respond quickly, before formal charges were drawn. They needed to file the first legal motion, because idiotically, the first legal party appeared most innocent. He did not want to suffocate in a grave of penal code, he wanted to loom over their adversary holding the shovel.

Ed would have to disclose this, painfully if necessary, because he needed to hear it. From Ed's own lips, Roy needed to hear how Ed was innocent.

"Alphonse's body has many bruises, Ed." Roy lifted his gaze, and Ed was silent, before slowly realizing this statement was the question.

"Yes," Ed said softly. His gaze flittered to Hawkeye once again, before falling to the floor. _That's right, the interrogation happens while you're in the cell. You're not leaving._ "He's—Alphonse is really sensitive right now. Most of his skin and tissue is still gaining strength so he bruises very easily. He gets them constantly. There… isn't much we can do about it, we're doing the best we can."

"Ed, he has them everywhere."

"I know," Ed said, angrily. "I just explained why! What do you want me to do, package him in bubble wrap? If he doesn't experience things he won't grow stronger, and while he's trying to experience them, he's getting bruised up, but they're healing!" Ed sent another fleeting glance to Hawkeye, before adding. "That is my answer in its entirety." _I am not discussing this in detail, with spectators._ "Sir."

Roy gave a heavy breath. He contemplated removing Hawkeye. _Ed was right, it was unsuitable to continue with her present._ It was a violation of confidentiality. There were unsettling details, but his professional obligation to sensitive data hit like a voluntary handicap. _If he kept her in the dark, she was less of a resource,_ and this was beginning to feel like something where they would want all the resources they could get.

"The status of your personal privacy in this situation, as a Major, is being amended now," Roy announced. "I'm exercising my right under the military's DS code, and as such I will disclose information regarding your situation, as well as Alphonse's, to staff of lateral or minor rank, as I see fit." Ed was stunned. His right eye gave a soft twitch of discomfort, and he muttered a faltering sound, gathering an argument. "You are temporary reclassified as a Lieutenant." Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Roy lifted his voice ever so slightly, and said, "I overrule your contest, and deny your request to petition that ruling. The matter is closed."

Roy paused again, testing Ed's acceptance of this command, but Ed remained dutifully silent. His gaze had tightened with anxiety, but the severity of what was unfolding was lost on no one.

"Now," Roy said, lowering his voice kindly. "Several of Alphonse's bruises are described as your hand prints, Ed. They are causing alarm."

Hawkeye's face remained unchanged, but Roy could sense her astonishment. It was loud for him, like the sudden beat of a drum, but her faith in Ed's innocence didn't waiver.

"That's…understandable," Ed said, tone hostile and struggling to remain civil. "Sometimes when I grab him it has to be harsh, and it bruises. If he falls, I try to catch, and it doesn't take much. All you have to do is squeeze."

Roy felt himself explode. "They are not being diagnosed as preventative marks!" he said. _Pull the wool over my eyes with this, really!_ "They are restraining bruises, defensive wounds, God dammit!"

"They all have legitimate reasons!"

"Explain the ones on his neck," Roy said cruelly. "Or the ones on the insides of his thighs, Edward."

"Roy, you're talking to me like I'm a criminal!" Ed pressed his face close to the bars, and glared at Roy with unforgiving hate. "You know I'm not fucking hurting Alphonse! For fuck sake! I've been trying to get his body back for years! Are you listening to yourself! Stop being such an asshole to me!"

Roy stepped forward. He closed the distance and lowered his voice in fury. "I do not need to explain to you what doctors think when they see a malnourished young boy admitted with bruising hand prints all over his body."

"That's why we needed to avoid having him admitted!" Ed screamed. "I know this fucking looks bad. I know what it looks like! But that doesn't mean relevant science doesn't count for shit anymore! I have relevant data!"

"There is a significant disadvantage presented when you consider that Alphonse's body, as product of transmutation, can't enter discussion," Roy said, closing his eyes and feeling buried in it. He was standing in the grave, and watching the light go away as the dirt was thrown in. "You knew Alphonse looked suspicious." He was so angry. "That's why you took him into the country." He was so angry about this he couldn't think straight. "You took him to a place you thought you could control." He was snarling. "Risked leaving the safety at Central because it was that important, but never for a second, thought you had to explain that to us!" He threw a finger at Hawkeye, the innocent party left holding Alphonse unprepared.

"I told you!" Ed screamed. "I told you not to take him from the apartment!"

"These two things are not the same, Edward!" Roy's arm shot out, and fisted the lapels of Ed's tee shirt, jerking him forward and flush into the bars. "We have very powerful authorities questioning your brother at this minute, and Alphonse is telling them things they can't understand! That I can't understand!" This had him reeling. "How do you expect them to respond when an investigation yields this type of evidence?"

Ed was blindsided with this new information, and cried a furious, "What!" that sounded more panic stricken than anything else.

Roy pulled his hand back to better manage the folder. He lifted his right index, locating the beginning of Alphonse's questioning, and read, "Has your brother ever hurt your body, Alphonse's answer was yes." Ed looked scared hearing this, but not as if he believed Alphonse meant it the way it sounded. "Ed, they get worse," Roy warned. "Has your brother ever touched your body sexually. Alphonse says he doesn't understand the question, and it is asked a different way. Has your brother ever touched your genitals, Alphonse's answer is yes. How often does that happen, Alphonse says almost every day." Roy looked up, and Ed's expression was twisted with suffocating anxiety. His eyes had lost his spark of strength, and in its place was a haze of confused disbelief. _We weren't hearing what we thought we were hearing._ "That's what he's saying," Roy said firmly. "That is what this report says." He gave the folder a second meaningful shake. "Alphonse is confessing to being a victim of sexual and physical abuse, and he's naming you the attacker."

"That's—that's not…" Ed began, before closing his eyes and licking his lips. Ed took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and using a civil shaking tone, said, "He is answering honestly, that's what he's trying to do. Do—have I touched him like that, yes, of course, but it's not for any reason other than—for—other than for health and—and safety, and only with his consent. Did they ask him if he was okay with it? I always ask first, he'll attest to that! I'm not fucking groping him for enjoyment!" Ed grabbed at his temple, as if this idea were painful. As if it caused a migraine.

"Ed," Roy said, tone falling calm. "I don't think they believe Alphonse is in the right state of mind to give consent." There was real danger in this.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean a person who is being starved, beaten, and violated, does not make the case they have consent to agree or disagree." Roy kept an even instructional tone. "You are the dominant figure here."

Ed's eyebrows raised with absolute shock, and he stared at Roy in mute silence before muttering, "…but that's not true."

"It doesn't matter if it's true or not, because that's how it looks," Roy said, angrily. "Your brother isn't doing you any favors where discretion is concerned." Roy stuffed the folder back under his arm, and blurted out, "Why are you touching him so often?" _This had been bothering him. In the car he had stared at the report, stared at the evidence, thinking nothing. What was there to think?_ Why? Why do this? It was hard to understand why an innocent person would. Ed was in territory where he didn't belong, and the average person would find it immoral. Things weren't looking difficult, they were looking scandalous, and Roy couldn't deny, even to himself, it felt eerily criminal.

"I'm trying to be, forthright," Roy said kindly. Something about all this gave him a tired ache in his bones. "I'm very angry." He did not want this forgotten. "But you are still my alchemist." _And then there was that._ "I'm not holding a final verdict, but I have deep reservations, Ed. If you were this worried about Alphonse, it sounds as if things should have been approached in a different way. This does not sound…natural, or healthy, for either of you." A look of uncertain caution bloomed in Ed's eyes, and Roy saw his status fall into question. It was having the single tether to your life boat tossed back at you, and Roy amended. "I say that," he said softly, "as a friend."

"I am doing," Ed cleared his throat uncomfortably, "the best I can." His tone was angry, but there was a level of fragility to it that meant pushing was no longer needed. "When Alphonse was born again—we—we didn't start like this. I gave him lots of privacy. This is, I mean, we, I—I mean, I know how old he is. He should—has the right to take care of himself." Ed gave his head a wobbling shake. "That blew up in our faces. Alphonse couldn't accurately judge things on a flesh-body scale because he was used to an armor-body scale." Ed paused, because that was how you summarized it. Flesh boy who thinks he's armor, has a hard time of it. Six foot, eighty pound, impermeable construct, has difficulty at five foot two, ninety pounds, and feeble. Accurate generalities sounded stupid, slighted, and poorly crafted, but they were core truths. Ed waited after explaining this, but Roy's frown and Hawkeye's stoic expression meant that statements like this weren't moving the crowd now any more than they had back in the apartment. "He's trying to live as if he's still in the armor." Ed elaborated, glancing between Roy and Hawkeye, but there was no change. "But he's not in the armor!"

"We know that, Ed," Hawkeye said softly.

Ed pitched a small fit, and grabbed the bars. His cuffs rattled against them, and he tipped his head down and grunted a sound of struggling frustration before trying again. "Look," Ed said, lifting his gaze with his breath speeding up. "I don't know how else to explain that someone who thinks their body is infinitely strong, and infinitely hermetic to everything, has a hard time realizing, and living on the receiving end, of the cold hard fact that it's suddenly, _not_." Ed grabbed at his face. His flesh palm snatched his eyes and sinuses. "He's fucking sick," Ed croaked. "He's so fucking sick, okay. He's fucking sick. What am I supposed to do? I'm helping." Ed's head tipped forward, palm rubbing at his face. "Trying to," he added softly.

"Why can't he just assimilate with his body again?" Roy asked. "It's his body, wasn't that why it was so important to craft his exact body? It should be like riding a bike. He used it for a decade. He's only been out of a flesh body for four years."

The ignorance and slander drove Ed into screaming. "Using your body is not like riding a bike!" He grabbed the cell bars to shake them, and shook himself instead. "Shut your mouth!" _These louts! These vermin were trying to understand genius and pointing fingers because they couldn't!_ "You don't know what you're talking about, cretin! Why don't you try fucking losing something you use to function every day and put it into words! Tell me how it fucking feels! Go into combat without your fucking flame alchemy! Huh!" Ed took an unsuccessful swipe at the folder, but the cell was crafted to keep cuffed extremities inside. A comfortable shift of Roy's weight kept it out of reach, and didn't interrupt Ed's tyrant. "No one has the right to judge us! Alphonse was putting himself in danger! Burning himself, dropping things, falling over his own feet! I have a list of complications for every system he has, for every function, for every shred of normality we take for granted! I can't explain the triumph of getting him into clothes, and I fucking won't, and that's because it's not your fucking business! Even after all of this!" Ed struggled to thrust a pointing finger through the bars to Roy's face, but the cuffs prohibited it. "I'm not fucking talking about this, any fucking more!" Ed screamed, and Roy stared back into Ed's blazing eyes and watched the outer rims grow a prickled red hue. "I'm fucking done! You need to take my scientific analysis at value, and if you're fucking trying to second guess me, shit if you think you can do it!" Ed's eyes narrowed into sharp bits of gold. His brow dropped, and the sneer was a threat as much as it was a challenge. _Think you can out think me? Think you can?_ Roy knew he couldn't, but that didn't change the stars on his shoulder. For once, that wasn't what this was about. He was the Colonel, and Ed was the subordinate. You didn't have to outthink someone you could outrank, you only needed to give them orders, like a monkey. It wasn't a question of intelligence, it was a question of political jurisdiction, and right now, something much stronger and larger than them was stepping forward and tossing them into a black shadow. _This took priority._

"Take a good fucking look at my face," Ed snarled, penetrating gaze coming forward in a whirlwind of heat and energy. "Take a good fucking look at my eyes." Their stare was unbreakable. "Ask yourself," Ed's voice lowered, "if you thought I would let someone harm a single fucking hair on his head…because I'm not answering one more fucking question." Ed thrust his hands between the bars. Ungloved they were the sensitive pink of flesh, and it was as dramatic as the loss of Ed's red coat. _Betrayal_. "You fucking, treacherous pig." They weren't tears, but Ed's eyes were growing brighter, as if catching fire under the heat of his own body. The dynamism was intimidating. It was personal, and Ed whispered, "What do you think I'm doing to him with these hands, Roy?"

Roy dropped his gaze to Ed's open palms and tried to answer that question. Surely not what they were suggesting, but than what the hell was happening?

Ed's fight was running out of him like water. The mitts of his palms, fat with aggression and strength, seemed to wilt, and as if unplanned, he muttered, "I want to get out. I didn't do it." Something of nostalgia entered his voice. "His first scent bled his sinuses for hours. His first meal, cholera like symptoms. Everything inside was malfunctioning, everything outside looked rubbed down with poison oak. When he doesn't want to do what is best for him, I'm the only one there, and I have to make him." Ed paused. "And that's why my hand prints are all over him. No one criticizes the Samaritan who safely restrains a seizure victim," Ed cracked an ugly smile, "but we don't have protocol for souls coming out of fucking armor." Ed retracted his hands, and lightly gripped the bars. "If you knew someone with poison oak, you would look at their poison oak, wouldn't you?"

Roy kept his skeptical displeased expression. Ed was verbalizing something he didn't wanted to see: history repeating itself. The Elric boys unsupervised again, and look at what they were doing this time. _This was going on, and you didn't know about it?_ "Ed, this sounds insane."

"This is insane!" Ed said. "This is God damn insane, and that's why I couldn't write directions yesterday! What do I write!" He turned to Hawkeye accusingly. "Prepare for the insane!" Her look of worry increased. "But he's my brother! So I'm trying to!"

"Trying to prepare for the insane."

 _This argument was not going to fly. Insane was not the way to take things._

"Yes," Ed said, giving a heavy sigh of relief as they all joined together on the same page. _The INSANE page._ "So he started taking lukewarm showers at night, and when he would undress we'd look at all of him in a scientific way to understand what was changing and what was getting worse or better. We were doing it in an experimental fashion, to learn what we needed to change to keep constant improvement. You see," Ed said, flashing a weak smile, "in this experiment Alphonse is actually the dependent variable, and life serves as our ever changing independents."

Like this Roy could understand. He imagined Alphonse huddled before a running shower looking down at his red damaged skin, and working with Ed toward solutions. Broken into pieces, the elementary verbiage of a basic experiment made the motives feel better, but sadly, left the overall picture unchanged.

"Alphonse heals slow," Ed said, placing emphasis on this. "So a bruise or rash can take a while to go away. He says I am…almost every day, because he's showering every day, and because he's still not entirely healed."

Hawkeye glanced quickly to Roy, and he felt that she agreed with this, but he didn't let this interfere with the connection between him and Ed.

"Ed, Alphonse's honestly is really being misconstrued."

"He can't help it," Ed said, sounding discouraged. "He doesn't know how to lie right now because he's so consumed with the present. He can't think to lie when he's thinking of how to answer."

"He's being more than explicit. He's being intelligent, somehow, as well as anatomically detailed as he responds." Above all Roy was annoyed with this obstructing contradiction. "He was disturbingly clear about what has happened to his body's orifices and just how you took part in that." Ed dropped his head into the bars and let it slump until his forehead held the weight, and it looked much like he was bowing.

"Are you trying to degrade me?" Ed asked sorrowfully. "To make me feel ashamed of what I'm doing?" Roy took a moment to analyze, but his efforts weren't fueled with cruelly. It was an insatiable desperation to stop something he felt attacking. To escape the black shadow, as if it were a falling object coming with certainty to crush them.

Hawkeye reached in through the bars and ran her hand onto Ed's shoulder. She gave it a sympathetic squeeze and Roy didn't stop her.

"I'll word it like this for you," Ed muttered, voice soft but moving bitter in tone. "For a good reason I've touched every body cavity he has at one time or another…but if you don't think that is also awkward for me…and doesn't…embarrass the shit out of me…than you don't know me at all." Ed's voice went faint, and he lifted his hands just the slightest bit, turning his palms upward as if begging for food. In a voice almost too soft to hear, he said, "I did it…out of love."

Hawkeye looked to Roy and gave a desperate eye flare. "Sir, my God," she said, discretely. "He isn't doing these things. Edward is just a boy himself, he's trying to help his brother."

Roy gave the arm Hawkeye had feeding into Ed's cell a harmless nudge with Ed's folder. "How can you explain this to medical personnel?" he asked. The gesture was symbolic. He was jabbing her sympathizing body with cold hard facts, and he hated them. _He hated the facts._ Every medical term felt like a chain and shackling it all was this bowel-irritating inappropriateness. Even if innocently motivated, it was turning Ed into a pervert, and Alphonse into a willing fool.

"We need to get a solid defense against this, because they will certainly have one against us," he said angrily. _And they'll have one because you weren't watching them, were you, Colonel._

Delving into this had unearthed nothing but testimony useful against them, and Roy felt internally sabotaged. _How was this going on right under his nose! You didn't notice a thing, Mustang?_ Angrily Roy racked his brain, and memories were coming, but they were harmless enough. Ed looked tired, Ed seemed distracted. Ed gave vague and hopeful answers, such as: Alphonse is doing better, yesterday was a bad day but today looks okay. Roy had said call if you need me, and Ed had even responded to this. He'd called a couple of times, but even during their longer conversations it somehow slipped Ed's mind he was groping over Alphonse's naked body and bruising his fingerprints into the boy's skin!

Hawkeye gave a small agreeing nod, but added softly, "Code does not require we do so here." She paused, and Roy saw her hesitating. She was a woman of few words on the field, but today she added, "We need to make it clear whose side we're on." She was so committed, Roy felt dirty in comparison because he was uneasy. While he couldn't believe Ed was guilty of these atrocities, something stunk that Ed wasn't exactly innocent either.

Roy was silent, and Hawkeye's eyes widened with shock when she realized he was indecisive. She moved on with grace and in a low voice that sounded entirely confident said, "I believe that's on the side of your Major, sir." She gestured to Ed with a jut of her chin that said: _Can you not see what I see? Give an order!_

Roy's gaze sullied. _This was her maternal side_. Her woman's heart bleeding because Ed was locked in a cage with his hands tied as they laced his dedicated affection for the last member of his family with filthy manipulated poison.

Roy understood his tone was accusatory, and that his facts weren't friendly, but he required Ed to perform strongly here. Even if perfectly innocent, Ed was going to need to stand on his own two feet because the hammer was coming.

"I can't just waive him out of his charges and release him, Hawkeye," Roy said irritably. "That will only damage his case."

She was becoming impatient and annoyed with him, and spoke a crisp, "Yes sir." She broke into a solute, as if an order had been issued, and said. "Right away, sir. Shall I advise that you will be moving Edward to the military cells on base?" Her bottom lip was thinner than usual, taut with frustration, but her eyes continued to speak. _This is undignified for a state alchemist! What are you doing!_

Roy was shocked the suggestion was so incredibly feasible and he had not thought of it. His authority allowed military law to mirror state, and relocating Ed while in custody was within his right. _Central Command holding cells were perfect._ There were plenty of empties, and if he assumed Ed, than he at least controlled that much.

"Yes," he said, slowly. He cleared his throat. "That will be fine, Lieutenant."

She gave a sharp nod and turned toward the clear wall to exit. Roy stepped forward and began the transmutation to take it down. At his side Hawkeye spoke staring into the room, but everything she said was to Ed.

"We don't think you did anything wrong." Her voice was tender and human. "We're going to get you out, and the Colonel is going to do everything in his power to help fix this."

She laid the path forward, and somehow it was comfortable. Roy stepped back with the wall descending, and spoke to the police while Ed was escorted into a military car and taken to base.

Or so they reported.

They took Ed home. The drive was silent. Ed's gaze never strayed from the window and he led them wordlessly to his apartment. Then he went to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

They were left standing in Ed's kitchen and Hawkeye tipped her head back and gave a chest deflating sigh. Roy knew she considered the afternoon a failure. "We humiliated him making him answer those accusations," she said, sounding defeated.

"We can't clarify without discussion," Roy said irritably. "I don't see what else we could have done." He took a seat at Ed's counter and tossed the folder forward with disgust. "Even understanding his reasoning, we're going to be in for quite a battle. This is not something we're going to be able to explain easily, and as it stands, we don't have custody of Alphonse." This hadn't breached discussion yet.

"I know a psychologist who has done some military contract work," Hawkeye said. "She's a close friend. I could ask a favor and see if she'd give Ed an evaluation he could use to support his side of things." Roy was impressed. "She's in Drachma right now, but she owes me a solid, so if I asked, she'd probably schedule a trip down."

"I can also document that much of the recent attacks have made him incredibly paranoid and untrusting, so he wouldn't willingly seek external involvement," Roy said. Hawkeye was nodding firmly, looking concerned and unable to see a truly clear course of action. Right now they just had a bunch of ideas, and her face held determination, but that still wasn't a plan.

"You were cruel to him," she said flatly.

"I was not cruel." He couldn't hide it, Ed's words plagued him. The out-of-love motive was never something he could swallow, and he hated the dirty feeling this omitted. It was staining them, covering Ed, and leaching toward his team.

"He is still…" she trailed off. _Young, scared, obsessive, blind._ It was unlikely Ed could make unbiased decisions when it came to Alphonse's health. His strength in alchemy, science, and math meant little when it came to caring for a sick individual. Roy saw this spiraling out of Ed's control so easily he couldn't believe it had gone on for so long without him being aware. _Where were you commanding officer!_

"Love is not a viable defense," he said harshly. The uselessness of this infuriated him!

"People do crazy things out of love," Hawkeye said. Her comfortable tone said she found this reasonable.

"But don't you think some of what they're doing is…" Roy trailed off, what was the right word, unnatural? Somehow, even under the guise Alphonse was sick, and Edward was eccentric, he still found it odd Ed was pawing over Alphonse's naked body. It didn't seem rational. He couldn't imagine being in Ed's place and not seeking a hospital or a doctor if so concerned. Why wouldn't you call a professional? Why would Ed take it upon himself? "Do you think you would do what he is doing if you were in his place?" Roy asked.

"What exactly is meant by the expression, what he is doing?" Hawkeye asked, something of soft accusation in her voice. _Going to add your name to the list of stone-throwers, Mustang?_ "If you mean caring for someone I love deeply while debilitated," she paused thoughtfully, and part of her expression relaxed to something of a drifting. Her mind was taking her closer to the place Roy was visiting while Ed kept trying to describe his struggles with vague, but somehow gruesome details of Alphonse's incapability. "And," she said softly, "…and if I felt I had to do it alone, and feared outside interference," she reconnected their gaze, "I don't think I could accurately say what I would do." What she didn't say was, _and I am a person who has seen war. I am someone who has sent a bullet through a skull without blinking an eye. I kill people, and I save people, and I don't know what I would do with this._

"But you're suggesting you would do something." Roy didn't want to be swayed into topics of strengths and morals. "Can you visualize doing what he's doing? See yourself doing that?"

"I take it you don't think you can."

"I think that Alphonse is fourteen years old, and that it's odd for his eighteen year old brother to be feeling him up as often as he is." He was deliberately crude. It was home plate for their opposition. "You can phrase it like that," he said, playing with the wording. He dropped a finger into a stabbing point on top of the folder. Verbiage was dangerous. It was a weapon mightier than all others. "You understand, I could say groping, I could say fondling, stroking, I could imply anything." He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerate expression of aghast confusion. "Why is one allowing it? Tolerating it? Why does the other feel compelled, or even comfortable on any level, doing it?"

"Ed said he didn't feel comfortable."

"But he obviously feels comfortable enough to be capable. If he were truly so opposed, he'd seek outside assistance."

Hawkeye said nothing. She lifted her hand and held the side of her temple the way she did when things weren't looking good in the office. She didn't know what defense to give, but Roy could see she didn't fear Ed having malicious or inappropriate motivators. Somehow, her faith was stronger than that. At his side all these years, there was something she gathered in credence he did not. Whether or not she found Ed's actions inappropriate she didn't say, and Roy suspected it was because she had not yet made up her mind.

Ed exited his bedroom, and they both looked up. He approached without a word, a look of miserable disgust across his features, and one sharp and very cold glance toward Roy. It echoed Ed's earlier words: _You fucking, treacherous pig._ Ed went to his phone and Hawkeye shared a glance with Roy. While in custody Ed could do nothing to suggest he was not rightfully imprisoned, and seconds before Roy reminded Ed of this, Ed ripped the bottom cord from his phone disabling it.

"I'm going to say it's broken," Ed said, voice flat. Without looking up he went to a kitchen drawer and rummaged for something. "It will make it harder for people to gauge when I became inaccessible, and everyone knows building maintenance is slow as shit."

Roy shared another glance with Hawkeye. Ed was sounding reasonable, and despite handiness, it was out of character.

"Ed, we're not staying here long," Roy said. "Anything you would like to do, do it now."

Ed muttered an irritated, "Fine," abandoned the kitchen drawer, and left stomping to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and Hawkeye looked generally disappointed. Roy was feeling his irritated side prickle. _It is not my fault you cannot manage yourself if I turn away for two seconds._

"Having him in custody on the base is terribly inconvenient," Roy said, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing. If word got out, they could retire on an admittance fee of a few cenz. The line of soldiers eager to see the arrogant Fullmetal Alchemist locked in a cell would be unending. "That sort of thing never stays quiet." _Thank you, rumor mill._ "I will most likely have to devote wasted manpower to this cluster."

Hawkeye move to close Ed's kitchen drawer and pause with surprise. Becoming apprehensive Roy asked, "What?" He imaged the inside of the drawer like a black hole to anything. _Just what the hell did the Elrics have in their kitchen that stopped the First Lieutenant?_

Hawkeye looked up pointing into the drawer. "He has razor blades in here," she said. "You don't think he just came and got a razor blade, do you?"

"He could have." That was plausible. "Maybe they're for the automail." That seemed practical.

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she looked to the silent bathroom door. "You don't think…" she trailed off with an uncertain look that said she wasn't sure what people in this apartment could do anymore.

"No, I don't think." Roy said coldly, ending it there. The cowards approach was as unbefitting of Ed, as the idiosyncratic was fitting. "If that were the case, this inane repetitive cycle, and available time for such a hobby, would have him looking like a tiger."

Hawkeye was appalled with the joke. Her jaw dropped slowly until she scolded out a low, " _Sir_." Then she stood quiet, looking dissatisfied, and watched the bathroom door. The apartment was completely silent and after ten minutes Roy was tapping his finger angrily.

"I need an excuse to bother him," she said, thinking.

"I'm giving him five minutes, and then we're leaving. I don't care what he's doing." Roy was angrily. _An entire day wasted, and work had just been piled on, nothing was taken off._

Hawkeye gave a disappointed sigh, and left to the bathroom door. Her frustration was leaching to Roy, and dwindling his patience rapidly. Irritably he watched her approach, knock politely, and ask Ed if he'd like her to get anything for him to eat before they left. Roy bit back the scolding she was not a maid, because she was offering, and no one was asking.

"Ed, I'm sorry to bother you, and I know you may not appreciate the interference into your personal life at this time," Hawkeye said, before pausing. Roy turned his gaze back to the folder with disgust. "But I'm worried about you, Ed." She was being honest, and Roy looked over with surprise. "If you would just let me know you're okay, I will leave if you ask."

Roy lowered his voice. "You will do no such thing. You are not dismissed." Roy watched Hawkeye look to the doorknob, something of thoughtful temptation across her face. "What?" he asked, with confusion. When she reached for it he said, "What are you doing?" Then he realized, Ed had not answered her. Ed hadn't made a sound, and for a boy who couldn't shut his mouth when it was in his best interest, not verbalizing his extreme frustration at a time like this was concerning. Suddenly, Roy was shocked he hadn't yet noticed. He had missed this, and Hawkeye had already opened the unlocked door and eased it in a crack.

She called to Ed, apologizing for the intrusion, and when there was no response, she opened the door enough to peek in, and screamed.

Roy bolted out of his chair, but Hawkeye was already in the bathroom calling for him. He ran to her, and stopped in the doorway in shock. On the floor Ed was sprawled on his back, a bloody razor cast a few inches from his flesh hand, while his lap, and the tiles beneath his hips grew a red pool of it.

Hawkeye was yelling, but she snatched a face cloth off Ed's vanity, and pressed it to Ed's bleeding groin, before Roy came to understand her.

"Call an ambulance!" She was repeating. "Call an ambulance! He's bleeding!"

"I'm running next door! He just disconnected the phone!" Roy yelled, certain, even in his panic, that Ed had done this on purpose.

Roy moved to leave the doorway, when Ed's limp body sprang to life. The automail shot forward like a spear, and grabbed Hawkeye's arm fiercely. She cried out in surprise, and tried to restrain Ed's hand, but he was acting incoherently.

"Sir, go!" she called, aware the sound of Roy tripping over his feet as he turned to run for a phone would mean he wasn't leaving. That he now couldn't leave because Ed was animated, and she might be in danger. "Go!" she demanded, trying to pry the metal hand off her. "I'm fine!"

Wordlessly Roy dove at Ed, slamming Ed flat with a forearm across Ed's chest, and his other trying to uproot the metal arm from Hawkeye's bicep. She was wincing, but her shoulder bent forward and tried to push Roy back. She wanted him to leave for an ambulance, and Roy hadn't yet been able to manage a word with the sudden panic of it. _He knew the strength of that metal hand, and it could snap Hawkeye's bones if it wanted to._ In his mind all he could see was the sight of her arm suddenly buckling inward to the single fierce crack of a twig snapping in two.

"Sir!" Hawkeye argued, before changing her tone to one of desperation, and pleading a quick, "Ed!"

Ed responded to her, as if moving from insane to sane. His bangs were over much of his eyes where he lay, but now he lifted his head and they were clear. They unveiled and fixed on Hawkeye. "This was a mistake," Ed said quickly. He was all but ignoring Roy, his entire focus was Hawkeye. "I need you to help me."

"Ed!" Hawkeye was hysterical. "That's okay! It's okay! You didn't do anything wrong! We're not mad at you! We're going to help you!"

"Ed, let go of her!" Roy yelled, using every bit of his strength to peel up Ed's metal fingers. He managed three and the automail cocked out. The strength of just the elbow and Ed's pressure shoved Roy back. Against the smooth tile of the floor Roy felt his uniformed knees skidding out from under him and his leverage was destroyed. One was soaking up blood, and it was as useless as a wet rag. The shove was a calculate move on Ed's part, cautious not to injure, but deliberately taking the upper hand, and Roy felt his vision go red. _What kind of sick game was this!_

Moving like an animal, Roy pulled back to his heels, hefted his weight over Ed's body to crouch behind Ed's shoulders, and put himself in a position for restraint. He grabbed Ed's flesh wrist before it could get involved and pinned it to Ed's chest, before diving back for the metal hand.

"Ed, please!" Hawkeye said, voice teetering between forceful anger and maternal care. "Dammit sir, go and get a damn ambulance!"

"It was an accident!" Ed cried, tipping his head back to meet Roy's gaze when Roy ripped the metal index and thumb off her arm. "I need you to help me! Help me here, don't get anyone else!"

Roy was bending back fingers with his own muscles strained and shaking as if he were heaving back posts in an iron fence. Furious he yelled a fast and sarcastic, "I'll help you!" just as he managed the metal middle finger. "I'll help kick your ass upside-this-room if you don't drop her right now!"

"Sir, you're going to scare him!" Hawkeye said, frightened threats would fuel destructive action. She sounded certain Ed needed to calm down, while Mustang felt certain Ed needed a strong kick in the head.

"I'm going to do more than scare him!" Roy said, an animalistic tone entering his voice. "Now pull yourself off him, and go to a phone!" He was seeing red. Her arm in the metal hand was a baby bird under a boot sole. He couldn't stand it.

Hawkeye wouldn't stop trying to aid Ed's wound while restrained. "Sir, I can't tell what he cut!" Little by little her right hand was inching along and investigating the saturated black leather of Ed's pants. Her fingers were cherry red, and in the creases about her nails blood slid in hair thin lines. She was smearing it about, groping like the blind, but couldn't find a source. "I don't want to remove the pressure. Just go fast, and get an ambulance, Ed's not going to hurt me!"

She was confident this was true, but Roy was enraged with confusion. He could not assume she would be safe because hurting her was unlike Ed, because he though self-inflicted wounds was unlike Ed, and what exactly was happening? In this state, with whatever Ed was trying to accomplish still untended, Roy found it possible Ed would hurt her.

"Don't call an ambulance!" Ed argued. "I don't want an ambulance!"

"Colonel!" Hawkeye called to Roy, and her voice was telling him to leave quickly and get help, but instead, Roy finished separating the last metal finger from her arm. She fell back into the tile floor looking frightened, but not injured.

Roy secured Ed's automail wrist to Ed's flesh in a second. He pinned the boy, yanking Ed's upper half into his lap, and wrapping his right leg over Ed's hips. His boot came down into Ed's pooling blood as if he stepped into a puddle, and the sound of it woke Hawkeye from her temporary stare.

"Apply pressure to it!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. "I'm running to call an ambulance!"

"Don't!" Ed screamed. "It's not deep, Hawkeye! Wait! Please stop!" She made it two steps towards the door before pausing to listen. "We can bandage it! Don't call anyone!" Ed cried, breaking into an easily managed wiggle. "They're not going to let me have Alphonse back if they know I did this!"

"What makes you think you should have Alphonse back doing this!" Roy yelled, furious.

"Shut up, Roy!" Ed screamed, abandoning what may have been a tone asking for mercy while talking to Hawkeye, for something that sounded like honest annoyance. It was so out of place, Roy did silence. Ed was insane, but Ed was sane, Roy could see it and he couldn't make sense of it. This seemed all an act, but, because it was happening he was certain it couldn't be. _Who would do this!_ "Please, we can bandage it! Please help me bandage it! It was just one mistake! I don't want Alphonse to know I did this! Please!"

Hawkeye whispered a short curse under her breath and rushed back to Ed's waist. She dropped to her knees, pressed both hands to Ed's groin, and Ed groaned in pain.

"What!" Roy yelled, flabbergasted. "Don't listen to him! Go get an ambulance!"

"But Alphonse doesn't have another legal guardian!" She looked fearful, and Roy was shocked. Was she that far ahead she was already worrying about custody battles with Ed indisposed! Ed suddenly increased his struggles from what felt skeptically like mock squirming to an attempt to get free and Roy latched down with cruel strength. He heard Ed give a quick hiss of pain and quickly countered Ed's elbow when it tried to wedge back in defense. "Sir, I can't leave you with him! What if he got one of his hands free to transmute!"

"So worry about me, but not yourself!" Roy was furious. He looked down at Ed's sweating face, and demanded, "Ed, how deep is your cut?" Ed gave a valiant pull to the side, and Roy gave Ed a vicious shake. "You're this close to experiencing a military beating, Fullmetal! Now answer me when I speak to you!"

"Not deep!"

"I'm going to kick your ass, Ed." Roy fumed, he looked up to Hawkeye and said, "Get his pants down. I've got him."

Hawkeye looked panic stricken, but didn't hesitate. She dove at Ed's belt, and fully restrained Ed's explosion of squirming meant nothing.

"Wait!" Ed cried, trying to pull his hips away. "No, wait! Stop! Let me up!" Roy could feel the blood saturating the legs of his uniform. "Wait! Wait! No, I said!" Hawkeye was quick, she yanked the belt apart, and loosened it the best she could, but the word no stopped her. She looked up with sudden frightened abashment.

"Don't listen to him!" Roy said, he looped the crook of his arm over Ed's jaw, and silenced the boy to muffles. "He's overruled! Expose the wound." Ed threw real strength into his fight for freedom, and Roy countered it swearing. His grip was harsh, and while the automail was unbothered, Ed's flesh limbs were being held callously. "We'll stop the bleeding! I have someone I can call!" Roy's boots were skidding around in the blood as if slipping on a red ice rink, and Hawkeye's fingers were slippery with it. She did her best to help restrain Ed's hips.

"Ed! Please stop moving, you'll increase your bleeding! If you don't want an ambulance we have to stop it!" She resumed with confidence. Ignoring Ed's muffled screams of protest and attempts to get free, she yanked his fly down. "We might need an IV!" she said, grabbing the rims at Ed's waist and dragging his pants to his thighs.

What she should have uncovered was a bleeding wound, but what she actually uncovered was Ed's bandage-wrapped waist. The top of his modestly covered pelvis, now speckled with the blood that seemed to be coming from his pants rather than his body, holding a hand written sign. It was affixed to his bandages with medical tape, and printed in large capital red letters it read: GUILTY.

Hawkeye stopped, gasping with shock when she uncovered the sign, and Ed stopped moving and went limp with a calm gaze on her. Roy found, like Hawkeye, he was too shocked to speak.

Ed's body was clean, cleaner than it should be for injury. Below him the floor had a puddle of blood he appeared to have sat in, and his pants were drenched as if coated in it, but Ed was as safe as a practical joke victim, and they were gaping with stunned joyless astonishment.

With adrenaline saturating their minds, they tried to catch up to the unusual scene, and went still.

"Be calm," Ed said, speaking loudly into the fabric of Roy's uniformed arm. Roy moved it away quickly, and Ed added a winded, "I am not injured." Hawkeye's eyes leapt to Ed's face, and her expression was painful. "You…are the victims of a false scenario," Ed said, panting heavily. "Your fear for my physical well-being in an isolated moment propelled you to act in a way you might previously have thought impossible for yourself." Ed paused, catching his breath. His struggles had been legitimate, and Roy was sweating bullets. "Do you see?" Ed asked, closing his eyes and taking a few labored breaths. "Just now my commanding officer forcibly restrained me to the floor, and his First Lieutenant undressed me against my wishes." Hawkeye's hands were still curled into Ed's pants, and she yanked them back with surprise. Her pinky finger was dripping blood. "I asked to be let up, and I told you to stop, and you didn't." Roy was staring at Hawkeye in shock. Her chest was moving quickly under her breathlessness, and her pupils were darting with frantic thought. "You bruised me," Ed said softly. Hawkeye was wide eyed. "You assaulted me." She looked horrified. "You molested me." Ed licked his lips, continuing to catch his breath, before asking, "Or did you help me, when I needed your help?"

Hawkeye moved her gaze to Roy, and they exchanged knowing looks. _They'd been had._

"You didn't call an ambulance when you could have," Ed said, clearing his throat, and remaining passively still. "What more would you have done?" he asked softly. "If I were really bleeding, if I was begging you to help me, what else?" Roy's mind was spinning. He was ready to deal with Ed's self-mutilation. He was planning for provisions he could use in Ed's kitchen and bathroom, planning to call for help quietly, keep this secret. "Look at yourselves," Ed added, tone almost sorrowful. "Look how criminal."

Hawkeye pulled away from Ed in a quick lean to the side, as if she was going to get up and leave, but the action stalled out. She grabbed at her temple with a blood coated hand looking wounded, and Ed responded. He gave his top half a small controlled shift for freedom, and Roy obliged with numb arms as if in a daze.

 _Completely had. They had been complete had._

Ed sat up at a slow cautious speed. He didn't want to alarm them, and kept himself unthreatening. Sitting with his blood saturated pants at his thighs, and his body wrapped in bandages as if wearing boxer briefs, Ed leaned slowly to Hawkeye. His plan had targeted her compassion, and it was cruel, but it was also clever.

In a soft kind whisper Ed said, "Hawkeye, I'm sorry." Her slender red fingers were hovering over the bridge of her nose and they pinched down gently. "I…"

Ed silenced when Hawkeye abruptly looked up. Her hand dropped, and her worried and frightened expression was seized with rebuked indignation. She reached out quickly, and with a painless tap to the bottom of Ed's right jaw, slapped him. The weak blow was barely enough to cause a sound, but Ed understood it, and immediately closed his eyes and bowed his head apologetically.

"How dare you, Ed," Hawkeye whispered, expression wincing. Roy was still aghast at how thoroughly they were deceived. He had genuinely feared for Ed's health and Hawkeye's safety. Panic had him sweating, his arms and legs ached from restraining Ed's body, and having the plug pulled on such alarming emotions left him plummeting. _All these years, and Ed could still trick him. Still turn everything upside down, in seconds._

Ed kept his head bowed after the slap, but in a clear and frustrated voice, said, "I know what you've both been thinking of me." Something bitter and antagonistic appeared. "You can't understand what I'm doing, and you think I made a mistake, like a fucking child. That maybe I didn't know what to do, but I thought about it all very carefully. I had to." Ed peeked up at Hawkeye, and his expression was angry, but his gaze was washed with pain. "I did exactly what you both did right now." She was stunned, and looping in Roy's head was the echoing sound of Ed's words, _I did it…out of love._ "I wanted to show you how easily you could do the same so you could understand." Something of desperation came into Ed, and he turned quickly to face Roy. "Alphonse if fucking everything to me." Ed became hostile with emotion. "I'm not fucking hurting him!" Ed looked stung. "You fucking know that, Colonel!" Ed lifted a finger to Roy and pointed. "But to protect him, and help him, I would do anything."

It was the way Ed pronounced the word, 'anything,' that explained to Roy what he could not understand before. That Ed's devotion was unconditional. With no stake too high to be met, it was indiscriminate. Everything Alphonse needed was filled: No Matter What.

Ed explained he had fabricated the razor blades with alchemy, and they were harmless. He demonstrated by scrubbing the bloody offensive blade against his wrist, and Hawkeye took it away looking disturbed. Ed explained the blood on his pants and floor was extra of his own, and that he and Alphonse both had blood bags in the apartment for emergencies. Rather than retrieving a razor blade, he was depositing the false ones for them to find, and had planned to wait for them to discover him, however long that took. In preparation he had wrapped his pelvis with bandages, not just assuming, but banking on the fact Hawkeye would dig into his pants for the injury. Jesting kindly, Ed also confessed he had not expected her to be so good at applying pressure to wounds. "I feel like I was kicked in the nuts," he teased her.

Hawkeye smiled. "You know I once punched a man in the groin for making me think he was shot." Roy confirmed, because he was there in Ishval when a teammate thought to have disappeared in a devastating battle had only harmlessly overslept. Standing and laughing with relief, the soldier confessed his idiotic mistake to Hawkeye's horrified seated self, and her fist shot straight out and landed dead center.

Ed looked nervously relieved he avoided such consequences, and promise Hawkeye this joke of self-harm would be the last.

"In the beginning," Ed said. "Alphonse took care of himself, and I would just ask if he needed anything. It only took one day for us to realize what a mistake that was."

Roy was less than impressed with his blood stained uniform, and Ed cleaned it with a quick and efficient transmutation.

"I became involved with Alphonse even though it wasn't my body, because that step was obvious to us both." Ed's bathroom looked as if a small animal had been slaughtered by an entire team of people. "You have to understand, when Al went into the armor we were still young enough we took baths together and slept together. The house was small, and we lived with my grandmother in a rural town, that wasn't unusual." Hawkeye said she found it endearing. "Then Al was in the armor and I was the only one with a flesh body. We kept constant partnership, I was used to him there." Roy had stamped large blood boot footprints about Ed's bathroom threshold, and he stood in a matted collection of them while watching Ed wipe down his tiled floor. "There's nothing sick about it," Ed said, on his knees moping with a rag. "It just looks weird if you don't know what you're looking at."

Roy considered this statement. Ed was talking the way he did when he called late in the evening. On and on with all the thoughts he normally kept locked up. _Funny how the comfort level changed after you all rolled around bloody on the bathroom floor._

"It is weird, Ed," Roy said, keeping things in perspective. "And that's what we're up against."

Ed gave this a disagreeable look before smirking. He stopped scrubbing and sat back on his heels. "I bet you guys understand it better now though, huh?" Ed sprouted a wide grin. "Huh?" He gave his eyebrows a happy bounce. Hawkeye stood at Roy's side, uniform speckled with bits of blood, and she ignored this as well.

"You understand we're in this mess for something as stupid as a miscommunication," Roy said irritably. _Yes, that was what you called it when Party A said things Party B couldn't understand, so Party B acted without that knowledge._ "A stupid miscommunication that could have been avoided."

Ed scowled down to the tiles and resumed scrubbing. "Don't know how many times I said he couldn't leave the apartment," Ed muttered sourly, before looking up. "I told you repeatedly you were putting him in danger, and that he was sick, Roy."

"I strongly suggest you stop insinuating that my lack of action in response to information you provided is the cause for this, Ed," Roy said angrily. He threw a scolding point toward Ed's frowning face, and took a step into the bathroom. It stamped a red boot print onto a clean tile. "You withheld a wealth of it! A wealth of viable information!" Roy tuned to Hawkeye. "How quickly do you think you can get word to your friend?"

Hawkeye glanced between them. "I'll call her immediately from the office." Then she moved her gaze to Ed, and said, "Ed I know a psychologist currently in Drachma doing some contracted work for the military."

This meant nothing to Ed, and his indifference was clear across his face. He stood and rinsed his rag in the sink, before muttering, "That's nice."

"Ed, we will appeal to the military committee to have your charges dropped," Roy announced. "That will be much easier than a legal battle over innocence." Ed looked up with hopeful surprise. "This sort of thing is not entirely uncommon, so the committee has experience reviewing service member charges and their corresponding appeals to pass judgment recognized by Amestrian court."

"You think I can just get this thrown out?" Ed was breathless with sudden excitement. "They made it seem like a huge deal!"

"It is a huge deal. But you are a state alchemist, so you have military protection."

Hawkeye offered a cheerful smile. "Another way to phrase it, might be to say you have military persuasion, Ed," she said.

Ed turned off his running facet, and ran a wet hand threw his hair. "I'm so used to the military fu—riding my ass, I didn't even…" he trailed off and looked to Roy. The Colonel's expression was somber, but his gaze was encouraging. _Roy thought this was a good idea, no, the best idea. Promising enough this would be their first move._

"While you're in custody we'll help you compile several letters of recommendation and submit those with a psych evaluation of yourself to the committee with a formal request to dismiss your charges," Roy said. "That will make an impressive request."

Ed's happy expression disappeared. "Wait, you mean I have to stay in military custody until my charges are dismissed?" Blue skies went to black. "I thought you were just agreeing to that and were taking me home. Just what the hell am I supposed to do in freaking custody?"

"Sit on your thumb." Roy was mildly annoyed Ed wasn't more grateful. "Now we need to leave. We'll take you to Central Command and put you in the basement holding cells until we figure this out.

"That's a bunch of crap!" Ed said. He threw his rag into the sink. "How come I can't be released unless convicted! Can't they set bail for me? What am I supposed to do with Alphonse! I can't leave him home alone! Am I getting paid while I'm in custody? I'll pay bail, can you have them set it?"

"Ed, you should be in custody for only a few days," Hawkeye said kindly. "Please look at this optimistically, the Colonel is doing a lot to help you." _And then there was this. Don't be selfish and rude idiot, you'd be in local police custody if they hadn't moved you._

Ed knew he should be more appreciative, but selfishly monopolizing his focus was the fact Alphonse was still in an unsafe environment, and unable to regain control of things, that's how he would stay! "What the hell do I do with Alphonse while in custody for a few days!" Ed cried. "I can't fucking stay in custody, I have stuff I need to be doing!"

"Your brother is in the hospital," Roy said angrily, pointing at Ed's pink and wet floor. "Get this blood off your floor, and then we are going. I'm not leaving the apartment like a massacre."

"It's my fucking place!" Ed cried. "You're more worried about this fucking floor, than my brother!" _How did that make sense!_ Ed snatched the rag and gave the tiles one last wipe, and Roy left to the door. "Hey, wait!" Ed cried. He scrambled up and tossed the rag into the tub. "I can't just go, I need to grab some stuff before you lock me up." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate his bedroom.

"That will not be allowed," Roy said angrily. "You were supposed to be transported directly to Central Command. Pit stops at home for warm dinners and packing are out of the question. You have been arrested. You're lucky we let you change your blood saturated pants. Clean the floor."

Ed's expression darkened. "So…while Alphonse is in the hospital, I'm not going to be allowed to see him?"

Roy took hold of the apartment door knob and remained silent. Since the age of twelve Ed had the horrible habit of repeating questions when he did not like the answers, and Roy had found silence was the best response. _When Ed ignored adult mental tactics, we stopped adult conversation._ "That's a no?" Ed asked, just as angry. "Even while he's hospitalized? You're still not going to let me!" Ed looked stung, and Hawkeye glanced between them with sympathy, but was a tacit partner. "Can I change my clothes to something more presentable?" Roy kept his silence, and Ed sneezed a sound of disgust before snarking a quick and bitter, "Fine. Fine then."

"Okay, now we're going to go," Roy said, lifting his voice to make this a declaration. "You sit in the back and keep your hands from sight. We're sitting in the front, I'm driving." Roy exited into the hall and everyone followed. Ed locked his dorm behind him and miserably stuffed his hands into his pockets.

The hallways were vacant, but the building was alive with the sounds of soldier life. Music and voices leaked from several doors, and somewhere from a back dorm a girl was laughing loudly.

"Ed, we will try and compile everything you need as quickly as possible," Hawkeye said. "Then you will be able to review it."

Ed was silent as they left the building and began the drive to Central Command. He slouched into his back seat and watched the scenery. The dorms were close to command, and after a few blocks Ed sat up and poked his head into the front. "What's a psych eval?" he asked, tone casual with neither excitement nor dread.

Roy sighed; he had both hands on the wheel and felt new exhaustion with this question. "Remember your initiation physical?" he asked, glancing into the rear view mirror to meet Ed's eyes. "It's like that, only on your mind."

Ed's eyebrows sunk into a flat line of disgust, and in a low bitter tone he said, "Fuck."

* * *

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas readers!

This was by no means, an easy chapter to write. To any of you with early chapter jitters, I hope these ongoing chapters are putting you at ease and entertaining you.

Please leave me the holiday gift of a review.

Chapter four, _Lock and Key_ , will be posted 01/06/17.  
Wishing you a lovely New Year!


	5. Lock and Key

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Four  
 _Lock and Key_

\- mirage–

Hawkeye called Drachma while Roy walked Ed to Central Command's basement level and locked him in a cell that couldn't hold an alchemist if their lives depended on it. There was something about this that made Roy feel like shit, and so he kept silent.

Ed did the same.

They had several holding areas; small concrete rooms with two cells on either wall, and each a cot and toilet. With nothing but the hallow echo of jingling keys, Roy opened the front right cell. Alongside Ed stood staring down at his feet, before wordlessly stepping in and stopping in the middle of the tiny cage.

Roy felt reassurances rise to his lips. _I'm sure it will only be for a few days_ , or, _I hear food in the joint isn't so bad_ , but he didn't have it in him, and shut the door.

How much of this was possibly his fault? Dragging Ed away from his grandmother and into their capital without a single sane role model. Did you dare ask, how many were in secure places with life? How many reputably sound? There was nothing therapeutic about any of it. They were soldiers, and it was managed chaos, but it was still chaos. They were the catalyst and product together, all of them, wayward bodies. Grieving like humans, in a clawing desperation to gain some semblance of peace and love. A collection of violent drunk whores, where even those with a stronger tether, had their unhealthy weaknesses.

What kind of environment was this for a child? Without the chance to grow up, Ed's undeveloped innocence was handed this warped existence and told that this was Oz. _What you've always wanted._

Ed didn't know any better, he came from the country, with a brother trapped in a suit of armor, and that was his support system: a child younger, and less experienced in life, than even he was.

Abandoned, with an absolute lack of faith in external authority, what was there for Ed to do? Calling the backstabbing, disgustingly corrupt military, was too funny to consider, so obviously, he did things on his own. _All on his own,_ and for Roy, wasn't that what he had taught the boy to do? To stand on his own two feet? To solve it for himself? How was he supposed to know one day Ed would take this guidance, and lack of guidance, and twist it into criminal charges accusing him of molesting and abusing the one person he was always trying to help? How much of this started years ago when Edward was twelve, and he was at fault simply by association as the only adult on premises?

Roy slid the key back into Ed's cell, and turned it. The click of the lock was an explosion in the silent room. It hit suddenly, like a stone Roy had just thrown, and sensing conversation would bloom if he didn't move, Roy withdrew the key. He wanted to escape the way he had comfortably done for years, because jurisdiction of Edward Elric largely stopped at seventeen hundred. As long as the boy arrived the next day for work, what happened to the orphan between was something you didn't have to look at.

Roy took a step back to leave, and Ed moved for the first time since entering his cell. He abruptly turned around to face front, and to Roy, Ed felt like a gun barrel. _He was waiting for the bullet, but Ed surprised him._

With gratitude Ed suddenly bent forward and bowed, and the solicitous gesture held something as humbling as hand-and-knee groveling.

Roy swallowed thickly. "I know," he said, and this was understood between them. Suddenly the strength Roy needed for conversation, which was seconds ago so far from him, returned, and ever so softly he said, "It shouldn't be more than a day or two."

Then he turned and left.

* * *

Roy drove Hawkeye to the hospital even though she insisted she didn't want a ride. "I'll take my own car so I don't have to catch a cab in tomorrow," she said. "Roy really, you're inconveniencing yourself." She was arguing with him, but he followed her anyway, and she sunk into the passenger side of his car with a heavy sigh and annoyed expression.

After minutes of silence she said, "You're putting this on your shoulders when it doesn't belong there." She was no fool, and she felt his depression wafting off him. "What more were you supposed to do?" She sounded angry, the way these things made you angry. It was a rational question, but the irrational answer was always more. _More._ Your fingers weren't bloody when you stopped, you still had a dollar to your name, and how dare you, how dare you for not caring and not doing MORE.

"I wasn't exactly a good example for him."

"You weren't exactly a bad example for him."

She was not going to stand by and let him kick himself unnecessarily, and perhaps that was why he forced her into the car with him. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be haunted at this particular moment, when his desk was full, and the office was very busy, and Ed was hurdling bolder sized obstacles into his agenda, somehow, as always.

"Are you coming with me to see Alphonse?" she asked, changing topics.

 _Was he?_ "No," he said. "I think I've had enough Elric for one night."

"Want to go back to Central and drive my car to my house?" She teased with a stoic expression.

"No." He pulled into the hospital and drove deep into the ambulance entrance so she could exit near a main door and no one would yell at him to move the car. Shifting into park and turned to her as she unbuckled. She was still in her uniform, and even after everything that had happened, her hair was perfect.

"I am going in," she said, reaching to the door handle and popping the passenger side. She turned to him, a serious glint in her eye. "You gave him a future," she said, lowering her voice to something intense. "Don't forget that, Roy." She exited and shut the door before leaning down to the open window. "You took him from that farm house, and gave him a reason to live when he wasn't sure he had one."

* * *

Alphonse was reluctantly released from the hospital the following day. That morning Hawkeye spent a wealth of time on the phone with Central General's administration. The hospital was very aware the military was coercing them into discharging a patient they did not want to discharge, and were using what bureaucratic power they had to make things difficult. When Hawkeye left after three hours of word games, and transfers, and additional word games, it was with an exhausted solute and stomp in her step.

Havoc was grinning down to his desk. Generally amused, as was the entire male team, when Hawkeye's professionalism graduated to an intimidating verbal eruption.

"You going to let the Chief out for Alphonse's release?" Havoc asked Roy. He didn't look up from his work, and behind him Fuery was carrying in large electrical communication parts Roy was certain he did not want in his office. The back left corner was beginning to look like a science fiction movie, and Roy found it degrading.

"No, I am not."

"Ouch," Havoc teased. "You send the First Lieutenant to give them hell?"

Roy smiled down to his work. "Yes I did." She was a powerhouse they would not see coming. They were going to expect stuffy Generals, and suited officials. They would not expect a single uniformed woman, and that cloak would be to her advantage.

* * *

Hawkeye stepped into Alphonse's hospital room after several hours of political games. She had transferred through eight different offices to finish all the paperwork that came with releasing an underage minor to a military stranger while the minor was the subject of an abuse case naming another service member culprit.

The hospital was not impressed with the one fact Hawkeye had going for her: female gender. _The stereotypical brand of a better caregiver._ They were not comfortable with releasing Alphonse into military custody. They made this clear over the phone, over the conference call, in reception, in personnel, and in social services, which would not stop reviewing documents that had already been reviewed and approved.

Things completed at nearly fifteen hundred, and exhausted, Hawkeye went to Alphonse's room with every shred of viscous annoyance hidden from her face. She found him sitting in bed wearing a gown, and looking bored but nervous. She greeted him warmly and he lit up on sight of her.

The hospital had reported a slew of medications pumped into Alphonse's system to stabilize the distorted metrics of his human body, but in general, seemed baffled by his condition. With intense conviction they found Ed the culprit for Alphonse's state, but with wobbling uncertainly, didn't seem to fully understand how Ed had managed it. _This wouldn't help them._ Not understanding which blow came first or why, didn't change the fact it was swung, and Alphonse was in the care of only one person: Edward. _No person did these horrible things to themselves._

"Your timing couldn't have been better, Lieutenant," Alphonse said happily, extending a greeting hand for Hawkeye as she approached. "I'm being discharged."

Hawkeye took Alphonse's palm kindly, and it felt largely like a leather bag of sticks. "Yes, we were informed." She gave his hand a kind squeeze. "The Colonel sent me as your chauffeur."

Alphonse's eyes were blood shot, and his lips were the pale flesh color of his skin. "You didn't need to trouble yourself." He sounded grateful, but suspicious. "Is Nii-san with you?"

Hawkeye had decided she would not lie to Alphonse when he questioned her. She would be careful with her wording and let Ed decide what he was told. "Actually Ed is detained at the moment, so if you don't mind, we'll hang out for a bit more until he's available."

Alphonse dampened with Ed's absence, but forced a quick recovery. "Oh," he said. He took his hand away and gave several quick blinks. They did nothing to right the appearance of his eyes, but it was obvious he was thinking quickly. "Detained," Alphonse repeated softly. _A small light bulb was flickering, as if trying to light._ "How long do you expect? An hour, or…"

"It may be a day or so." Hawkeye kept her expression unreadable. "He's at Central Command."

Alphonse's gaze dropped to his lap, and his brow lowered looking deeply troubled. "What's…been happening while I've been in here?" he asked softly. Hawkeye felt her shoulders tighten with stressed sadness. This was the voice of the little boy in the armor. The clever calculating tone of Alphonse Elric. _Still alive and kicking, Lieutenant._ "Things must be serious." Alphonse looked up quickly, searching her face for answers, and she felt guilty keeping it a mask. "Nii-san, must be being detained against his will. Does the Colonel know about this?" _How much was over stepping your bounds._ Alphonse's mind went forward. He didn't need her information, he was figuring it out for himself. "The Colonel must know if you're here. This is already bigger than us then?" _Us, as if one of the team._

"I've only spoken to Ed about your discharge, Alphonse. He is comfortable with me here, but I would prefer he discuss with you the details of his detainment so he can explain things the way he feels is best."

Alphonse's expression tightened with something close to annoyance, and in a flat irritated tone he said, "What can I do to help while he's in trouble."

She chose to answer this. "Nothing that I am aware of at the moment."

Alphonse's skin looked frightfully dry and thin, as if a strong rub would slide it off the muscle underneath. He reached to his face and pinched about his sinuses the way Ed did, and the tiny bone of his nose looked frail enough to crack "I gave them the wrong impression," Alphonse said sadly, dropping his hand to his lap. "Like an idiot." He couldn't even remember doing so. He looked up, and his golden eyes were tiny suns pushed into a flesh face wilted of color. "Lieutenant, can you do me a favor?"

"I can try."

"My brother holds the equivalent of a Major, isn't that right?" Hawkeye lifted a slow eyebrow, she didn't know where this was going. "That means, if he issued you an order, you would have to follow it?"

"Depending on the circumstance, I may."

"I want to give you an order, from him," Alphonse said. He reached out and snatched the side of her bicep. His grip surprisingly strong for his toothpick of an arm. "Don't leave my side," he said, falling breathless with desperation. "Don't let me speak to anyone, and don't let them speak to me." She was shocked, and gaze locked, his eyes glossed over with tears like clear lacquer painting gold. "Since I've been admitted, I've felt better than I have yet, but I need to get out of here. Help me," be begged, "Help me keep from…hurting him."

 _As a decent person, it was the least she could do to help another decent person._ Slowly, Hawkeye lifted her arm in a solute. For seven years she had worked at Ed's side, and she respected him. Bringing back a body was no small feat of alchemy, and Ed had sacrificed deeply to get himself and Alphonse to where they were today. Tenderly, Hawkeye gave Alphonse the smallest smile, and said, "I accept that order, Alphonse."

* * *

The Elric dorm greeted you first in smell; a faint, but unmistakable scent of mechanics. It was the lingering scent of a suit of armor, and the constant usage of two automail limbs kicking faint grease and oil into the air. The heart of the apartment was stained with a long journey and to either brother, the other's presence. Alphonse entered and took a deep breath looking comforted. _This is the smell of my brother. This is the smell of my home._

Alphonse warmly invited Hawkeye in, and she regretted not confirming with Ed he was comfortable with them returning to the dorm while he was in custody. Without certainty he would agree, she felt as if she were trespassing, and it was wouldn't have welcomed the Elrics tromping through her apartment, and felt intrusive.

Alphonse left her side Eager to give the place a quick once over as they were not expecting guests, and unsatisfied, Hawkeye looked into the sloppy Elric living room and windowsill of dying plants.

The apartment was in an equally clean and unclean state, with clutter but not disaster. Everything that had happened, had come suddenly, unexpectedly, and thrown them a curve ball.

Mustang's collection of recommendation letters were ongoing but impressively ahead of schedule. The intelligence department where Hughes had been stationed, were all forwarding testimony, and Sheska had proven incredibly helpful at expediting their priority. Division leaders from two of Ed's oldest cases, both the Barry the Chopper and Youswell Coal Investigation, also agreed to send written referrals, and of course, their entire squad under Mustang had contributed.

There came a certain level of hesitant reluctance when stamping your name and reputation to someone else's, and especially that of an alchemist who pleased as quickly as he displeased, but from the woodwork Hawkeye was happy to find there were at least a handful of them who were loyal the way austere people were loyal. It wasn't hard for her to put pen to paper and try to describe why Ed was helpful to the military, because at the end of the day he at least did enough to keep his paycheck and benefits, and that was the real focus here, wasn't it? Being able to survive, and survive well enough to find happiness? Hadn't the Elrics done enough they at least earned that much?

Hawkeye thought so, and after Major Armstrong forwarded a letter, their internal collection was missing only one.

Mustang wanted Ed's appeal to paint a well-rounded petition Ed's military service was valuable. He wanted to pull from cases outside of his command to illustrate a lack of bias, he wanted the patriotic-erection that was the Armstrong name, and he was pulling international support from the twelfth son of the Emperor of Xing. One phone call and Ling Yao dispatched messengers with a scroll of support, and so it looked like words that needed to cross a desert would reach Ed's folder before Mustang's own letter. _The single most important recommendation._

Testimony from the direct report: the officer responsible for military loyalty before allegiance to personnel.

Roy was procrastinating, suddenly, or perhaps from the beginning. Perhaps from the minute he had taken the call from Dr. Alman and realized he had to discrete both boys' mental stability in order for their actions to appear rational. It could have been born in that minute, with seeding suspicion things weren't right-as-rain with the Elric boys, or it could have been directly after. Fuel to a waning dread when Roy flipped back Alphonse's medical report and read that his subordinate was under investigation for abusive acts to a minor.

There was something powerful about bureaucratic suggestion you were the mascot to a person who desired unmentionable parts of their body in unmentionable places that really killed your cheer. Undoubtedly, Hawkeye felt there should have been a pivotal moment, something that caused the Colonel to lift his foot from the gas pedal of Elric-routine and hover hesitantly over the breaks, but she was lost to it. The only thing she took as certainty, was the dead calm of uneasy caution she saw inside her commanding officer's eyes.

Roy had gone uncharacteristically motionless with indecision, and Ed was feeling the effect of his outstretched hand meeting nothing.

Hawkeye locked the Elric door behind her, and surveyed the kitchen. The counters were relatively clean, the sink outlined by a few empty beer cans, and full of mismatched dishes. Ethics aside, the familiar clutter was soothing. Picturesque representation of soldier dorms and resonating youth-filled bachelor ideology that made her smile. It was Edward growing from the boy he was when he arrived seven years ago, into a man. _Just because we can do some fancy-schmancy alchemy and reform our missing family members, doesn't mean we aren't human the way you think we're human inside._

Alphonse returned to the living room moving quickly on autopilot. He was collecting pieces of scattered clothing from the litter of miscellaneous tools Hawkeye assumed were for the automail, as well as odd jars from near the window sill and single end table.

"Alphonse, you don't have to pick up, I think your place looks fine." She tried to put him at ease. "We shouldn't worry about being so formal."

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said, dashing quickly to the bedroom hugging his load before reappearing with empty arms. He looked tired, and was plucking at the bottom of his large shirt. "We don't have a lot of guests, and most of those guests aren't ladies." Hawkeye laughed. "In fact all of them aren't ladies."

"I'm so honored."

"I really appreciate you staying with me, or me staying with you, whichever it's considered." Alphonse was smiling happily. "I'm sorry but, right now our place is a bit..." Alphonse trailed off, seeking explanation. "Nii-san says I have to become better at using situational filters, and choose the correct words for conversation." Alphonse said sheepishly. "Assuming I'm the one who caused whatever mess we're now in, I guess I'm not doing that so well." He looked devastated, although desperately trying to ignore it. "I think the best way to describe our apartment is dangerous, but the polite filter alternative I think would be, complicated. So our place is complicated." Hawkeye gave a slow curious nod. She was following the conversation, but felt as if she were slowly lifting the lid on a Pandora's box. _Just what did people commonly committing mass taboo do in their spare time?_ "We've been doing a lot of…stuff…alchemy in here lately, and…" Alphonse gave a small uncomfortable shrug, "…not cleaning up so well."

"I don't mind."

Alphonse looked mildly reassured because he recognized etiquette, but knew their apartment was falling short of anything hospitable. He offered to order her some dinner, with explanation Ed had dedicated the refrigerator to science.

It was the start of everything: The façade of a mundane appearance hiding everything.

The Elric refrigerator was the apartment's experimental hub. Alphonse explained his digestive track was relearning human life, and they were selectively controlling his exposure, as most food made him sick upon introduction, and those with greater digestive complication guaranteed it. As a result the refrigerator shelving was organized with one cup containers housing chopped food. When a new food was introduced it was done one bite at a time, and each meal increased the portion size, until an entire cup was consumed. With no reaction noted, it was considered safe. If there was a reaction, Alphonse was taken off the food and it was addressed. The goal was to increase the number of safe foods, catalog those creating reactions, and analyze the categories for like traits and means to combat the disruption.

"The non-scientific version of this," Alphonse said, holding the refrigerator door open so Hawkeye could look at the many plastic squares of sample food. "Is getting me to eat normal food groups again." Everything on the top shelf was safe, and housed in larger containers. The middle shelf was in progress, and the bottom was off limits unless Ed was present because those were unknowns. "It's very important you are careful not to switch anything," Alphonse said, looking gravely serious. His first meal he vomited up in minutes and was left with brutal cramping. He could not handle anything solid, and Ed had started basic, mashing fruits and vegetables. With painstaking work Alphonse had progressed to chewing and swallowing items that looked like food. The idea of again feeling the stomach pain, vomiting, bleeding, and diarrhea that came with something foreign accidentally being ingested scared Alphonse. When his body was in agony, his mind didn't work well. He lost his perception of time, and memory of the ordeal was intermittent. Stranding him at the mercy of Ed's understanding and account of what happened and why. He wanted his body to work, and it couldn't work if it was having its systems attacked with something as stupid as a slice of fruit, or piece of vegetable it wasn't ready to accept.

Hawkeye reached into the middle shelf and took out a small container of blueberries. She tipped it and watched the small beads tumble and bounce over each other as they slid from one side to the other. Softly her mind was asking her, _how could a boy sweet enough to count out blueberries ever hurt an innocent person?_

Alphonse watched Hawkeye with an uneasy expression. He could see her thinking critically the way Mustang did before he spoke seriously to Ed. Her thoughts made Alphonse anxious. He felt betrayed by himself and his own body. He had made trouble for Ed with such utter carelessness, but luxuriously didn't retain memory of doing so. Like all the times he had become ill, he was without a single fact to analyze, and was left wondering how and when he had done himself in.

Hawkeye's presence was proof of Ed's disgracing absence, and Alphonse suddenly felt uncomfortably embarrassed with her scrutinizing their blueberries. _No, not the blueberries_ , he thought, _the refrigerator_ , but it wasn't the refrigerator, or the apartment, it was THEM.

Their routines were private, and weren't made for spectators. They were crafted slowly by two little boys living alone under a level of age driven solitude and coworker isolation. Ed was growing older, and Alphonse understood this because he was too, but that didn't mean that all old ways were changing. In the armor much of their routine kept him stationary as Ed took care of his flesh body: _eating, washing, dressing, sleeping_ , but now that he was human again, he participated.

They ate together, brushed their teeth together, and were now sleeping in the same room in two different beds, because when you were a suit of armor only one bedroom was needed, but now it was easier and comforting. While Ed was just freeing himself of his nightmares, and only had strong bouts while heavily stressed, Alphonse now found he woke himself vomiting, shaking, or stricken with fever, and things were easier if Ed were close. Ed needed him like an anchor to sanity, and he needed his brother when his sensory perception became stronger than his mental, and he couldn't think.

The armor's removal had changed life as dramatically as a new camera lens, and Ed helped. Ed made everything impossible seem possible, and coached him through walking, holding, or lifting items.

Alphonse would randomly lose feeling in his extremities. Objects which were once small, were now big. His hands which were once strong and capable were now weak and meager. The instinctual judgment used with everything from shifting his weight, to crossing a distance, had changed. His body took up less space, and distances were longer. Light items were now heavy, and all weightless and texture less life, which previously had no temperature, now did, and all of it changed the way his skin and body felt. _Amazing._

Alphonse loved and hated what had happened to his flesh self. Memories of his tissue body told him he should be comfortable inside it, but this susceptible body seemed more like an egg yoke. His hard metal shell was replaced with a delicate thin layer of membrane, and if he sliced it open or burned it apart, his insides would spill out and he wouldn't be able to put them back.

Ed told Alphonse he was being paranoid, and Alphonse told Ed he was being hypocritical. There was no happy medium to returning to flesh understanding, when your flesh self was constantly ill as if with flu. Understanding the small stuff like why his skin wasn't producing the necessary oil to keep it moist, or his sweat glands weren't working well, and his Rheum mucus was sometimes over or under producing, were easy. These were isolated concerns, subject to testing. It was easy to investigate a broken leg, and hard to investigate a broken body. Understanding what was wrong with the rest of him, and why that something seemed an idiopathic pandemic was something else entirely.

They had begun testing immediately, and it was everywhere in the apartment. In jars, in containers, on the window sill if it needed sun, on the living room floor if they needed space. What caused a human body to do this and that, and what could cause that natural function to become unnatural, was a big question. They weren't medical professionals, they were alchemists, and they were young. Ed said he was a genius, but laying in his pajamas chewing his pencil he confessed he did not want to go to medical school, and told Alphonse he was a slave driver.

With Hawkeye staring into a small container of blueberries she lifted her gaze to the top of the Elric refrigerator where a few plastic testing bins had been set. To the unseeing eye all items in the Elric dorm looked casually at rest or amiss, but the details were balancing a hidden laboratory and somehow it felt so astronomically comforting Hawkeye was silent. They were concealing experiments, the same way she was concealing weapons. Some of the test tubes and beakers were obvious along the sink, window, and refrigerator, but she knew there was more. There was more the way she had more. Unassembled but compatible weapon parts all about her apartment, so she could barricade herself if necessary and build something for defense. There was more the way Roy had matches and transmuted magnesium Flintstone material integrated into casual furniture and décor in his home, so he could make fire, no matter what. Havoc had integrated and cloaked knives, Breda, explosives, and they were all insane in this way, all paranoid in this way, or perhaps it was that they were all sane. Sane and ready.

 _Had the boys joined them in the madness, or had they handed it off? Was it learned, or was it instinct?_

"You're trying to fix your body," Hawkeye said, voice flat with conclusion. She turned her gaze from the plump blueberries to Alphonse's quiet but determined expression. Somehow she felt she could remember his gaze peering out of the armor, as if he had been somehow hiding in the helmet. "Will you be able to?"

That was the million dollar question. Alphonse pinched his lips for a moment of concerned deliberation, frightened with his own hope and aspiration, before confidently saying, "Yes." He sounded entirely certain, and Hawkeye lowered the blueberries with surprise. If Ed was desperate enough to drag Alphonse into the sticks when he didn't want to take him into the yard, she had to believe the uncertainty of Alphonse's recovery was at least compelling.

"How are you so sure?" She tried not to sound doubtful or insulting.

Alphonse smiled a little, and that too seemed familiar from the armor somehow. "Come on, really?" he asked, as if she were teasing. Rolling his hand in jest, as if talking about an all-star sports team not having a chance against the rookies Alphonse said, "Nii-san and I opened the gate and went in, he came out, I stayed, then he came back in again, left again, and then he did what he did to get me here." Alphonse raised his eyebrows with the look of one impressed. "Now, that did take us a few years, and I don't intend to wait that long to get better, but we're talking about a little experimental anatomical cell development, and that's nothing compared to what it takes to bridge this world into what some people might call heaven, and what I would call hell." Alphonse reached forward and took the blueberries from Hawkeye's hand. She was speechless. "I can't eat these yet," he said, sliding them back into the refrigerator. "They give me nose bleeds." He gave a heavy sigh, the breath of one mid journey with lots of walking still to be done. "All in all I think I would have liked a different tax than the inability to eat." Alphonse pushed his hand into his hair with a smile and grasped his roots. "I'd rather be bald or something."

Hawkeye laughed, and felt herself backing out of the thick topic of discussion Alphonse had blossomed with effortless grace. It came like a sunrise, and was ending like a sunset, where Ed had always managed massive downcast trees for him to trip over.

"You know what?" Hawkeye said, offering a small optimistic smile. "I bet I can cook you something absolutely delicious with the foods you're allowed to eat." Alphonse looked doubtful, and then excited. He said he would take her up on this, and welcomed her past the kitchen.

He offered her his bed, which she respectfully declined. The Elric bedroom was not ready for guests. About several large and expensive leather bound books, clothing was tossed about a slew of personal items and alchemy notes. Alphonse insisted, looking sheepish as he continued picking up quickly and Hawkeye let her smile grow. Ed's bed was littered with pillows as if he were nesting, and Alphonse explained Ed used them to elevate the automail in damp weather or if a position caused them to cramp or go numb.

Every bit of private routine Hawkeye learned made her feel like a snooping invader, and she excused herself to the living room with Alphonse cramming things into the bedroom closet.

Alphonse continued to insist she could sleep anywhere she wanted, trying to be hospitable, and with his upbringing branding it unacceptable a woman slept on the floor while he had a bed. Resembool was an old traditional town after all.

"Alphonse, I'll just toss a sleeping bag down on the floor, it's no big deal," Hawkeye said kindly.

Alphonse looked at the living room couch, appropriately scattered with books and notes, before to the coffee table, inappropriately cluttered with beer cans, and sounding greatly dissatisfied, said, "But…the living room has a lot of beer cans right now." He was disappointed with the stark collection of them. They couldn't have stood out more if they were gold bars.

Hawkeye bent down and collected the upright cans. With years of practice she could fit eight in one hand.

Alphonse watched looking shocked, before startling into speech. "You—you don't have to clean up for us!"

"I don't mind. I said I would help out while Ed's detained." Hawkeye paused, and tossed Alphonse an empty can. He missed it completely thinking his arm was longer and hand was bigger. The can sailed past him, and he watched it go looking confused. "If that's picking up beer cans, that's okay. I'm sorry Havoc made such a mess while standing watch."

Alphonse went and retrieved the can. The inaccuracy of Hawkeye's comment made his expression bleed over with stress, and she noticed. "Actually," Alphonse said softly, tapping the side of the can uneasily. "I know Havoc doesn't drink this kind, so these are all Nii-sans."

Hawkeye took another glance around the room with a bit of surprise. A few comments came to mind, but she held her tongue. She looked to Alphonse, and he was standing with an expression of anxiety holding the lone can.

Softly she asked, "Are you worried about him?"

"He says I shouldn't be."

Hawkeye carried the cans to the kitchen counter and set them alongside those at the sink. "You know what Alphonse?" She pushed the collection flush to the back splash. "I think if Ed wants to worry about you, than he is saying it is okay for you to worry about him." Alphonse set his beer can alongside Hawkeye's considering this. "You know why?"

"Why?" Alphonse asked uneasily.

"Equivalent exchange."

* * *

Roy carried a folding chair, manila folder, and his Styrofoam take-out container of popcorn chicken down to Central Command's basement level, and propped his chair directly in front of Ed's cell.

Ed ignored Roy, and lay reading with a small mountain of books stacked up alongside his cot. Ed had quite obviously transmuted his cell to be larger, and Roy looked at the now cramped cell to Ed's right. _Was it even worth commenting when they never had people in these things?_ Ed had also transmuted his boots into sturdy black flip flops with a small metal skull on the strap. Roy found this ridiculous, and told Ed so.

"They're hideously gaudy."

Ed turned a page in his book and spoke into the pages. "I was thinking about doing a matching belt buckle." Tone flat. "Big and shiny."

"You had better be kidding." Roy set the food in his lap, and slid the folder from beneath his arm. "What are you reading?" he asked, mildly curious. He expected the book spines to disclose scientific literature, or alchemy studies, and was surprised with the elementary tiles of fiction. "What is this?" Roy asked, growing a smile. "Little House on the Prairie?" he teased. "Pride and Prejudice?" Ed slapped the book closed becoming annoyed. "Little Women?"

Ed dropped the book onto the stack alongside his cot, and sat up. "None of your business."

"Since when did you read period piece dramas?" Roy asked, chuckling softly. "Girly, period piece dramas." Ed gave Roy a sour look, and took notice of the meal container.

"What do you have?"

Roy extended the file he had brought. "This is the growing compilation you can submit to plead your charges be waived." Ed took the folder with interest and opened it. Roy flipped back the lid on his chicken. It was steaming, and he dunked a piece into honey mustard dressing, and tossed it into his mouth. "I thought it would do you some good," he said, tossing back another piece. "A little, pick-me-up."

Ed was reading with a stark expression of flattered astonishment. The letters were not cheap. They were well crafted, finely articulated testament describing Ed's disposition, alchemic skill, and service to the country as nothing less than immaculate. The letters reassured Ed's service was valuable, that his decisions were founded in strong analysis and intelligence, that his investigatory skills and alchemic skills led by example, and that as an upstanding individual in the military, insinuation of any discredit to his character was insulting to everyone.

"Holy shit," Ed whispered.

Roy put away a piece of chicken, and said, "I know." He was incredibly pleased.

"Do these people mean all this stuff?" Ed straightened up, flipping through the folder at full attention.

"Yes, they do," Roy said, tone nothing to sneeze at. "They're signing those letters, Ed. They're attaching their name to your reputation."

Ed's gaze leapt up with awe, and he turned back to the informal contents sheet Hawkeye had crafted to gauge completion. With impressed silence, Ed lifted the list.

"Even your little buddy in Xing," Roy said, gesturing to the letters with a piece of chicken. A bead of dressing dripped to his container, and dunked the piece again before eating it.

"I can't believe it," Ed said softly. "I will have to thank these people." He replaced the letters and closed the folder, resting his metal palm on top.

Roy was glad Ed realized this so he wouldn't have to order Ed to do so. Ed was thinking deeply, and Roy waited, licking his fingers.

"Thank you for putting all this together," Ed said softly, staring down at his hand. "For helping me with all this."

Roy popped the tip of his pointer finger from his mouth, and said, "Let's not get all sappy about it." Ed looked up, and Roy grew a comfortable smile of friendship.

Ed visibly relaxed, looking embarrassed with his own gratitude before noticing the chicken. Then his gaze tightened, and he said, "Give me some of that chicken."

Roy laughed, and dipped a piece into the sauce before handing it through the bars. Ed snatched it and devoured it. He stood up and crossed his cell in two steps before leaning into the barred door and looking into the container. "What sauce is that?" Ed asked chewing.

"Honey mustard."

Ed extended an open hand, and Roy relinquished another piece. "To keep you updated, Hawkeye has been out of the office with your brother, and we're falling behind with both of you indisposed." Ed extended both hands, and Roy reluctantly surrendered two more pieces. Ed held them while chewing. "So I am having her come back in tomorrow, and she's going to bring Alphonse with her."

"That's not good for him, Roy."

"We don't have a choice, unless you want to bring unwanted attention to all of this."

Ed looked unsatisfied. "You'll keep him off all the rigs, and away from all the training and stuff, right?" Ed devoured the chicken with Roy nodding. "I've been stuck with cold cafeteria food," Ed complained, incredibly appreciative. "This is so good."

"I know. That's why I always get it with the honey mustard," Roy said. "I'm going to keep Alphonse largely in the office, and I'll ask him to stay on our floor. I don't want him wandering around. He won't be coming down here either. We need you two separated until everything is cleared up."

"How soon until Ling gets his stuff here?" Ed asked, sticking a wanting hand through the bars for more food. "How long does it take to have mail cross the desert like that?"

"We're having someone meet them half way at Xerxes, so the horses will be in better shape and can travel faster. The letter went out this morning, we're expecting it here possibly tomorrow night if not the day after."

Ed let his hand droop with disappointment. "And I have to stay in here all that time?"

"But you have such fine pieces of literature." Roy indicated Ed's novels restraining a mocking laugh. Ed reached into Roy's container and dipped a piece of chicken looking glum. "I guess I'll have to let you out to shower, or else you'll be rank by the time we get you in front of the committee."

Ed was chewing with half a chicken tender poking from his mouth, and he muffled out, "You're an ass." Roy laughed. "Listen," Ed said. "I have a serious question." Roy continued laughing, and Ed moved to double dip his piece of bitten chicken.

Angrily, Roy slapped his hand over the container of sauce, laughter dead, and said, "Ed, don't piss me off."

"What?" Ed asked, frowning. Roy yanked the chicken from Ed's hand and correctly dipped the unbitten end. "Okay, so this is my question," Ed said, recollecting his chicken. It disappeared in one bite, and then he reached back for the folder on his cot. "This evaluation I have to have done. Is there a way I can fail it?" Ed fed the folder back through the bars, and Roy took it, chewing thoughtfully.

"Fail it."

"Yeah."

"Fail your psych eval?"

"Yeah."

Roy considered this. He comfortably leaned back in his chair, and gave a lazy exhale. _Could Ed fail out?_ "No," he said finally.

Ed was leaning into the bars with his flesh arm hooked outside. With a piece of yellow frosted chicken poised before his chewing mouth, Ed asked, "Why?

"What?"

"Why not."

"Because," Roy said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a large shrug. "Even if the evaluation was to tell me you were insane, I really don't care." Ed's gaze narrowed skeptically. "Let me change the question," Roy said, growing a smile. "Does the military expect you to be sane?" Ed stopped chewing. "Do they want healthy, well-adjusted, sane people working for them?"

"They don't want us insane."

"They don't want us, unmanageably insane," Roy corrected. He reached forward and gave Ed's metal hand a flick. "Does a sane person do this?" Ed shifted back with offense, but resumed chewing. "The way the military looks at it, if you follow orders, you're no immediate threat to civilians, and upon command, can operate weapons, heavy machinery, or in your case, alchemy, in a way which is advantageous for them, then you're a fine soldier."

Ed finished his chicken, and wiped his hand on the thigh of his pants.

Suddenly, the purpose of Ed's new reading material dawned on Roy, and the effortlessness of this understanding surprised him. "Are you trying to study?" he asked, indicating the books with a curious jut of his chin. _Ed had laid his evidence in plain sight._

Ed slunk back into his cell looking miserable, and plopped onto his cot. He gave the back of his neck a rub of embarrassment, and nodded.

"Ed, you can't study for a psychological evaluation."

"I just want to see what other people are doing," Ed said, muttering his words quickly and ending with a nervous shrug. "People more normal than me. I just think, I mean…" Ed fell silent, and looked up. His expression was painfully honest, and sounding uncomfortable with his own vulnerability, he asked, "What if I answer wrong, and they try to take him away from me?" Ed was desperately seeking reassurance, and Roy was silent. "What if I really am a bad guardian?" Roy felt his own thoughts echoing back to him, and somehow it felt good to know Ed wrestled with the same question. It made them the same.

"You are a good guardian." Ed dropped his gaze, politely relived, but utterly unconvinced. "Ed?" Roy sat forward and leaned closer to the bars. Ed lifted his gaze obediently, and fiercely Roy locked them. "You are a good brother." His tone was nonnegotiable. "You are a good guardian, and do you know why?"

Ed cringed. "I'm messing up," he whispered meekly. "I'm messing up bad."

Roy ignored this, and repeated a firm, "Do you know why?"

"Why?" Ed looked frail.

"Because you gave him a reason to live when he wasn't sure he had one."

* * *

Happy New Year! Hope everyone all enjoyed :)

Chapter Five: _Extended Hand_ , will be posted 01/20/17.

Please review.


	6. Extended Hand

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Five  
 _Extended Hand_

\- mirage–

The next morning, as ordered, Hawkeye was back in office and she looked relieved. She came from something that seemed to make her stir crazy, and returned to her desk with eager excitement, and then disgust. It was piled high with paperwork, and she looked up from the mess with an accusatory stare of disappointment, and said, "Havoc, you couldn't have done any of this?"

Havoc looked shocked. Sitting at his own desk, pencil raised, he dropped it to the desk, and said, "I didn't know how you wanted it," sounding genuinely hurt.

"So you saved it all for me?" Hawkeye asked disapprovingly. "You didn't think, gee, while I'm one of two officers working on these reports, maybe I'll do some of this work?" Hawkeye snatched the offensively thick report on top of her inbox and held it up as evidence.

Havoc broke a defensive frown. "No one assigned it to me. Don't give me the witch voice Hawkeye."

Hawkeye lowered the report and narrowed her gaze. "What did I say I would do if you didn't stop using that expression, Havoc."

"Yes, but you see," Havoc said, leaning across his desk with a wide grin. "I need both those body parts because they're allies, Lieutenant."

Hawkeye's reintroduction to the office was not all frustration. Of course she brought Alphonse with her, and he was happy to visit everyone and wondered curiously like a tour-abandoned civilian. He was ordered to stay on their floor, and in their hall, and Roy felt confident, putting aside Alphonse could injure himself with basic office equipment, that this would keep him safe. Ed had breached what Roy would call schizo-mode in paranoia his unsupervised transmuted-brother was going to parish while he was locked up, but Roy addressed this clearly with the order: _suck it up, and shut up,_ while repeatedly peppering in the phrase, _you did this to yourself._

Although Alphonse's first run in with Hawkeye had been overwhelmingly less than favorable, Alphonse was still alive and kicking, and Roy vowed to keep it that way. Ironically, Alphonse had no complaints, and seemed concerned he was separated from Ed, but still pleased with life the way a toddler was: constantly exploring and enjoying new sensations. Roy addressed Alphonse's concerns with the order to: _be patient and quiet_ , peppering in nothing, so there was no extended conversation allowed. For the better part of the morning, Alphonse helped Falman file and organize weapon logistic documents looking relatively happy.

Combat came with administrative responsibilities, and like all military units, they allowed it to compile dangerously until either unmanageable, or a lull in military assignments granted time for catch up. With all the inner office drama, Roy was thankful a brief lull had reared.

Alphonse's release from the hospital, and Hawkeye's return to the office, felt like forecast things would improve. Hawkeye delved into their work with a Titan's zeal, and gave Roy a sense of peace he did not have while she was absent.

It was fall, her favorite season. In celebration, most cafes in Central offered a pumpkin or chai spice, and Hawkeye adored this. Following suit so did Roy, as she decorated his mornings with styrofoam cups of sweetened spiced coffee with whipped cream toppings. Today was no exception, and Alphonse was slowly sipping a cup of bland tea when she arrived and graced Roy's desk with something that smelled impressively like apples and cinnamon. It was the same routine every year, and Roy had come to eagerly anticipate his morning surprises. However, every day of every year, to save face, he asked her not to request the whipped cream. It looked undignified, and it didn't matter how dark your glare, or respectable your desk, when your partnering mascot was a morning coffee wearing the fluffy hat of a sissy. Hawkeye's café used autumn cups printed with smiling orange and brown leaves, and it turned angry-colonel into something comical. Laughing, Hawkeye always refuted his request with "but you like whip cream," and then promised, "this will be the last one." _It was never the last one._

Three days into the season the latest Elric catastrophe slammed on the office breaks, piling up work with two missing members, and stamping a morning void so stress filled days began more miserably. Hawkeye's absence expanded from the noticeable lack of capable hands, to a stain that lingered until seventeen hundred.

The day started with weak and bitter break room coffee, s _ymbolism for what the office was without her,_ and ended without a sense of accomplishment _._

Roy's quiet relief upon her return, Alphonse or no Alphonse, was immeasurable.

That afternoon, at a quarter past fourteen hundred, when the office began to shake, the first thing Roy looked at was his delightful coffee cup. The vibration came suddenly, rattling up through the floor in a soft tremble, and then as a quake that sent a crack up the wall in a very developed root system.

Paper stacks slid over, and pens rolled off desks. Hawkeye leapt back from her own desk when her coffee tipped over. She grabbed frantically at the documents she was working on to save them while yelling to Breda, who was dragging his work off his desk and into his lap with the vigor of someone scooping gold coins.

Havoc ran to the file cabinets in the right corner of the room, and threw his body against them when they began tipping unstably, before yelling a loud, "What is it!"

 _That was the question_. It wasn't the vibration of an explosion, and it wasn't bombing. They all knew immediately from experience what was happening was not an external attack. Hawkeye was cursing colorfully when she lifted a dripping manila folder, and Roy looked down at his coffee when it threw itself onto its side, and sent the last bead of whipped cream sailing like a single life boat.

"It's coming from below us," Roy said. He was most certain of the fact he had felt the vibration first in his feet. As if the office were placed over a large turbine. Initially it felt almost natural, as if a large electronic had powered up, and then it became unnatural, like a malfunction. "Make sure the elevators are turned off!" Roy said, standing up and slapping the coffee cup onto the floor. He wasn't going to try and save what had been soaked. "And rescue the plant."

"What!" Havoc yelled. The loud disruption had brought about an angry rattling from the windows and furniture.

"The plant!" Roy said, pointing to the potted spider plant vibrating its way to the edge of the office's left file cabinets. "I like that plant!"

"Sir!" Hawkeye called. "I want you to stay in the office until we at least sweep the floor." She never ruled out the possibility of danger, _never._ She was drawing her gun and checking the cartridge even as she spoke.

The quake was just as quickly dying down to nothing, and Falman went to the plant which was coming to rest at the edge of their file cabinet, lifted it, hesitated, and then repositioned it in the middle of the cabinet again.

"Fuery, will you find Alphonse for us!" Hawkeye asked, slapping the cartilage of her gun in tight.

"You don't know where he is?" Fuery asked, sounding shocked. He was sitting alongside his desk hugging two boxes of communication equipment to keep them from jostling about.

Hawkeye rushed to the door and gave his accusation a scolding look. _As if being the First Lieutenant and a full-time babysitter was even possible._ "Just go!" she snapped, holding the door open. Fuery ducked into the hallway frenzy. Hawkeye looked back to Roy, weapon raised, and left, but the message in her eyes was clear: _Stay Right Where You Are._

"Oh, for pete…" Roy trailed off, and looked down when he felt something tap his shoe. With disgust he realized the coffee was dripping off his desk, and rolling into the side of his boots. _The coffee was rolling away from the desk as if it were elevated._ Roy lifted his foot and watched it trail beneath the sole. _As if the room was not engineered by alchemists, and crafted perfectly level._

Roy lifted his foot a half an inch and called to Havoc watching the coffee run. Havoc had taken Hawkeye's position securing the office door. "The few but important holding cells we have," Roy looked up, "where are they in relation to this office?"

Havoc looked stumped. Below the puff of hair he deliberately spiked forward with pride, wrinkles of confusion dented into his forehead before his eyebrows lifted with immediate recollection. "Below us. Several floors below us."

"Directly below us?"

Havoc nodded. "Yeah, actually. How did you know that, sir?"

Roy hadn't known this. He dropped his foot back into the coffee in a vicious stomp. Against Hawkeye's wishes he left the office and took the stairs down to the basement. The commotion had the halls busy with offices emptying, phones ringing, and soldiers rushing about. Hawkeye was not the only one who wanted to make sure the building was free of malicious Drachma spies and Xingese spell casters.

One floor down the floor tiles were damp with cracked dripping walls. Two floors down, there were puddles, and four floors down Roy was walking through a thin sheen of rain water before he reached the basement door and opened it to the flood.

Inside the modest cinder block room of four holding cells, there was significant damage to the left wall. On the right, what appeared to be a crack in the floor led forward from Ed's cell, across the room, through the cell on the left, and into the wall. Following this appeared to be Ed's cell door, which was now lodged into the cracked and split left wall and water main.

The room was raining from the ceiling in every literal sense of the word.

The transmutation had blown Ed's cell to splinters, but Ed stood innocently inside its broken frame. Under the pouring water his hair was plastered to his skull, and his red coat hung heavily from his shoulders. Glaring across the room at the hole in the wall, a flat expression of anger twisted Ed's expression to something ugly.

Roy didn't need to ask what had happened. The transmutation damage ran forward from Ed's body as if it were an arrow. Somehow calm under a haze of astonished shock, Roy called out an even-toned, "Edward?" _Ed had crafted an infraction that was affecting multiple levels of the building._ Ed looked over and irritably spit a small collection of water from his mouth. "Did you know the water main was there?" Roy asked

"No, I didn't know it was there!" Ed yelled, coming to life. He struggled out of his cell's remains, lifting his knees high to step over the bent and twisted metal poles, and slapping his hands across his forehead to peel away his plastered bangs, and rid some of the water. "What's the big idea of letting every shmuck down here to see me while I'm in this kennel!"

Shock diminishing, Roy felt long overdue anger arrive in a collision. It was delayed, but caught up quickly, and hit like a truck. Roy thrust his arm out in a vicious point to the damaged wall and piping, and screamed, "Start fixing this now!"

Ed stopped dead, with a look of unexpected surprise, before scoffing. "I am fixing it!" Ed gestured to the pipes with both hands. "The transmutation is running! I'm sealing it up as we speak, O' Mighty Colonel! There was a hell of a lot more split open! Just look at this place! I'll need a snorkel soon!

"You broke the pipe several floors upward!"

"That's why the transmutation is slow! I have it sealing the pipe with heat! It will close it all in the next few minutes, geez!"

Roy was so mad he brought his palm to his face and held it for a moment of deep breathing.

"Roy, I shot Lieutenant Johnson into the next room through that hole. I didn't know the water main was there, I didn't mean to damage it." Ed was explaining himself because he knew he looked like a just deserved criminal, and his tone was desperate for the opportunity to plead his case. "He comes down here all high-and-mighty while I'm stuck diddling myself in that stupid cage, and starts in with name calling! What the hell have I ever done to Johnson! I've never done anything to Johnson!"

Roy dropped his hand from his face when he heard a man might have been shot through a wall. "You did what to him?"

"I don't mind people horsing around or anything, I let that roll off, but he was getting serious!"

"Through the wall?" Roy felt blindsided. His was having a hard time understanding Ed willfully destroyed work property to stick it to a fellow soldier. Distantly, he was struck with the idea the soldiers still felt it necessary to deliberately rile Ed up. _That game should have worn itself thin years ago._ Ed was now of height to catch most objects tossed over his head, and swing a jab wide enough holding him at arm's length was no longer effective.

"I don't want Alphonse hearing stuff like that, Roy."

"Did you brace his impact?"

Ed nodded, and tossed the metal hand conversationally, as if the question was of no importance. Water droplets flew from his fingers and sleeve. Directly after, Ed again wiped at his face which was actively dripping from his chin. "If anyone so much as thinks that shit while they're near him, I'll bust their teeth out." Ed looked grave, and Roy pointed back to the destroyed cell. For the time being, all he could think to do was put Ed back where he was supposed to be and get other alchemists downstairs to fix this. He needed a moment to digest, but Ed wasn't done. "Where do you think he got that idea?" Ed asked, tone a bit suspicious. Something new blossomed in Ed's eyes, and it was as much of an accusatory glint as it was a distrusting one.

"Who!" Roy snapped.

"Lieutenant Johnson!"

"What idea?"

Ed fell silent looking insulted Roy was not listening to him. The sound of dripping water was surprisingly loud, and Ed stood confidently in the ceiling shower as if he didn't mind the rain Roy was deliberately trying to avoid. Overhead a flash of blue transmutation sealed several of the leaking cracks, and the water stopped. The left side of the room was drenched, the right side of the room was still pouring like a sieve.

"He called me," Ed said softly, taking a step forward to make the conversation private, "a pillow biting sodomite." Ed lifted his eyebrows, as if speaking to someone slow. "A brother-fucking sausage-jockey, and implied I like to suck and lick things I'm not repeating."

Roy found this as surprising as it was confusing. "What have you done to Lieutenant Johnson in the past?"

"Nothing!"

"Well you certainly haven't done much to avoid snipping peoples' noses." Roy pointed back to the broken cell. "Now go back to your cell." Ed was flabbergasted. "Ignore the rumor mill, Ed." This was his solution. "Ignore it."

* * *

Alphonse was waiting for Roy when Roy returned to his office with his uniform damp all about the tops of his boots. Fuery said he had found the boy in reception, because the girls in reception were young silly things and they loved Alphonse. Even more than Alphonse, they loved the Fullmetal Alchemist because he had a short temper and up until last year would blush on command. Roy called these girls, _tormenting women_ , and told Ed to stay away from them. He had seen them pawing over the boy with their batting eyes and cooing voices. They weren't scared of Ed the way they were the other alchemists, because he looked friendly when he wasn't blowing stuff up.

"Sir, I'm so sorry!" Alphonse said, bolting up from the couch. He had perched on the very edge, to keep as little of himself touching as possible. "I'm going to help clean up whatever happened. I'm sure Nii-san didn't mean it!" Alphonse was still dressed in clothing two sizes too big for him, and had an unsightly bandage over his nose. After what had happened the first time Alphonse stayed with Hawkeye, Roy was horrified when he saw it, but she reassured him everything was fine. She said Alphonse had slept with his face too deeply in his pillow and it had caused a sensitive rash. Roy was no less horrified with this.

Roy passed the boy with his boots squishing. "I don't care what you do, as long as you remove yourself from this office," he said. _He'd had enough of the Elrics that morning._

Alphonse scurried off, and Roy felt a ray of hope when he found the coffee had been cleaned from his desk. He sunk into his seat and rested his head in his hands.

Breda and Havoc were fixing papers at Havoc's desk, replacing unclean folders with clean folders, and looking nonchalant about the morning drama. They were the rocks of his operation. Falman and Hawkeye were missing, and Fuery was the only one looking characteristically worried, because the office was in earshot of Roy's furious hallway yelling. _On his way up from the basement he had been colorfully demanding the basement mess be addressed, and he hadn't cared who heard him._

The sound of Hawkeye's boots entered and crossed the room. Roy looked at them when they stepped into the floor tile he was considering. "I'm going to kill him," he said dryly.

"I think Edward is under a lot of stress at the moment, Colonel."

"I am under a lot of stress at the moment."

Hawkeye gave a soft sigh, before opening a new topic. "There is a hot new rumor running around." _Ah yes, the rumor mill._ Apparently young men were just as bad as sewing circles, and everyone was subject to the spiraling gossip.

"About us?" Roy asked, with some interest. Those were always interesting, and there were plenty of them. Plenty of, _Yeah, why do you think Mustang keeps a woman constantly at hand? Yeah, why do you think she's always his driver?_ Plenty of whys and whats: why she was with him, why he promoted her, what they did after hours, what they did on the weekends, what they did in the conference room, and perhaps even more laughable, what resemblance of them could be seen in Fullmetal. Based on nothing other the shared trait of blonde hair and Roy of age to have fathered the boy if he and Hawkeye had stolen off to, what he had to guess would have been a Resembool barn, and fornicated at an age where even he would admit he was limited to just his hand. _Yeah, why do you think Mustang brought the kid into the military? Yeah, why do you think Mustang had him approved so young? Yeah, why do you think Mustang keeps him so close?_ Always, _yeah, why do you think…why do you think…why do you think…_

"No," Hawkeye said simply. She was never disturbed with those rumors. In fact some of them were embellished enough they laughed about them. "About Edward."

"Oh?" Roy asked. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"More accurately, about Ed and Al."

Roy closed his eyes and gave a deflating sigh. "How did you hear?" He was certain it was going to be the girls in accounting. Hawkeye was always hearing things from accounting.

"Alphonse."

Roy looked up with surprise, but Hawkeye's expression was stoic, masking something that looked almost sad.

"Someone slipped an envelope under their apartment door addressed to Ed." Roy didn't like how this was unfolding. "Alphonse decided to open it because Ed is detained, and as Alphonse explained, he thought it might be important."

"God dammit."

"Alphonse said, and these are his words sir, there was a poorly drawn picture that was not anatomically to scale depicting him and Ed with the forceful request to: find another building you incestuous ass-ramming queers."

"God dammit."

"I haven't said a thing regarding the details of what's happened, or what Ed's charges are."

"Well, you know I haven't," Roy said, a bit defensively. He didn't understand her meaning. _Did she think he ran his mouth?_ She knew better than to think that.

"I know. That means someone else has access to some or all of this information." _She was making a point._ "And they're sharing it in an accurate or inaccurate way." Roy's office phone began ringing and he looked to it. "I think you should classify Ed's charges until we can release him." She extended a completed form made out on his behalf and Roy took it with his left hand and moved his right to the phone. "Things could get a bit ugly if not, sir."

"I'm too tired for this," Roy confessed, lifting the receiver and bringing it to his ear. "Mustang."

The alchemist he had put in charge of basement clean up, was the White Ice Alchemist. A good man, and loyal soldier, he was yelling into the phone receiver over the sound of the basement's raining water, and Ed's loud mouth. "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you! But if you could please come down here for a minute, I think you might want to give Elric some orders!" In the background Ed was yelling at the soldiers, and to Roy, who Ed knew was on the line. Roy heard Alphonse's name, swears, and his own name relentlessly.

"I'll give him an order," Roy said, slamming down the phone. He lifted his gaze to Hawkeye, but there was no explanation needed, she understood. "Did you save the plant?" he asked. It was a Christmas present from Hughes five years ago, and for a man who had no green thumb, Roy considered it an act of divine compassion it was still alive.

"Of course," Hawkeye said kindly.

Roy looked to the empty file cabinet where he kept it. "Where is it?" he asked, curious.

"Accounting."

* * *

The White Ice Alchemist had been in the service for several years, and was a quick efficient worker. In half an hour the basement holding room was in near perfect order, save for the hole, and clouds of thick steam as the man evaporated the puddles and waved them out two new basement windows.

Roy approached, fanning his hand before his face, with his lungs protesting the thick inhalation, and narrowed his vision to survey the damage.

Ed didn't wait for Roy to fully enter the holding room. As soon as he heard the familiar footfalls of Roy's boots, he launched into speech.

"Roy!" Ed was flush to the front of his reconstructed cell and gripping the bars like a lunatic. "Can you please do something about this! I can't take this!" Ed was still wet. Had stripped from his coat and shirt, and was wearing his drenched leather pants and boots. His hair had been pulled back into a pony tail to keep it up while it was still dribbling, and Ed's metal arm was extended out the front of his cell, in a perfectly straight panic-driven point to the hole in the wall.

Roy looked to the hole with confusion, but even the few seconds he took to assess the situation was too much for Ed.

Ed squeezed out a grunting sound of discomfort, and broke into a tiny dance where he stood. "Can you stop! Just stop it! Okay, just leave it!" Ed was yelling at the hole. "Please, don't touch that! For the love of—will you put that back! It can cut you!" Ed pulled the automail back in and gabbed at his forehead as if insanity was taking hold.

Roy looked to the White Ice Alchemist. He was a young sandy haired man in his early thirties. Mute, the man stared back at Roy with a stoic expression and his eyebrows fully raised. Surely, he'd never seen anything quite as entertaining and out of control as the Fullmetal Alchemist in one of his fits. Not many people had been graced with cluttered years as Roy had, and Roy entered the room on bewildered autopilot.

"Are you doing this to torture me, Mustang!" Ed shouted, leaning his head into the bars and squeezing his eyes closed.

Roy crossed the damp floor, and looked into the hole by tipping his body forward and craning his neck as if extending it over a well. He was cautious. He wasn't exactly sure what could be inside the blackened ring with Ed going so berserk.

The next room, a storage office had been annihilated. Lined with file cabinets it looked as if one had blown up, scattering paper like feathers, and sitting in the dank and dripping mess of it was Alphonse, sorting piles.

"Alphonse, please just stop touching stuff and get out of here!" Ed yelled.

"Maybe," Alphonse said, sounding displeased with Ed's behavior. "You should have thought about how I would help clean up your mess before you made it, Nii-san." Alphonse was sitting on the paper covered floor surrounded by bits of scattered metal. A few pipe pieces had chipped, and blown into the room in hunks. Crumbled bits of cinder block had followed, and of course, everything that Ed had knocked over inside the room had joined the rubble. The floor was a littered jagged mess of water, mildew, sharp edges, rock shards, and the threat of tetanus, but Alphonse sat calmly like a child surrounded by blocks. He was cleaning up one item at a time, and seemed passively indifferent to the leaking ceiling, the flickering single light, and the sagging tumbled furniture and supplies.

Roy looked back at Ed in astonishment, but Ed was dragging his hands down his face in torment.

Roy turned his gaze to the White Ice Alchemist, but the man's blank, but questioning stare, had not changed. He was waiting to see where this would go while kneeling over a half drawn transmutation. _What was Flame Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang going to do about this?_

"I can't take this," Ed said into his hands. "Roy." Roy looked at his charge and wondered how he had the same urge to strangle Ed to death, and aid him at the same time. "Please do something about this," Ed repeated. The word please was not the most active word in Ed's vocabulary, and here he was tossing it out freely. "If you sent him down here to grind my ass, you win, just take him out of here, I can't take it."

"No one sent me, Nii-san," Alphonse called sweetly from the other room. "I can't believe you broke all this stuff." Ed strangled a noise of overwhelming frustration and curled his hands into little shaking fists. "And don't talk to me, Nii-san, we're supposed to be separated. I don't want to make your situation worse." Alphonse stood up in the dimly lit archive room and dusted the front and back of his baggy sweatpants before crawling back through the hole. Ed was mute and wide eyed as he watched Alphonse's delicate skin ghost by the razor sharp twisted bits of pipe, climb over the abrasive coral like cement, and duck under the partially exposed metal grate frame to the water main. "Nii-san, this is going to take me a few hours." Ed was breathing so hard Roy could see his ribs flashing.

Then Ed barked Roy's name the same way Hawkeye had done when she pulled their main credenza away from the wall and revealed a massive black spider. " _Roy!_ " It was a true sound of need.

Roy laid his hand on Alphonse's shoulder and smiled at the small boy. "Alphonse, thank you for all your help." Roy involved himself quickly. With confusion, he had not gone to Hawkeye's side when she had called to him, and she shot the spider. If she would shoot insects inside his office, he didn't want to see what Ed would do watching Alphonse's infant body roll around in glass. "The help is appreciated," Roy said kindly.

"Don't thank him!" Ed screamed. "Get him out of here before I gouge out my eyes!"

Alphonse ignored this and gave Roy a smile Roy swore was familiar from inside the armor's lifeless face. "It appears the reconnaissance department wants to take this opportunity to sort through some of their back files, and they are sending a team down." This was a lie.

Alphonse began wiping his palms onto the side of his pants, and glanced back into the hole with a soft, "Oh." He was convinced the way Alphonse was always convinced. He considered the fact Roy was a sincere person, and what he said sounded reasonable, and accepted it. _Ed would have said there was no reconnaissance department._

"Let me relieve you. Fuery is going to reconfigure some of the communication equipment upstairs and needs someone to help him with the wires." Alphonse was eager to help. "Just let him know I said that was a good project for the afternoon."

"Okay then," Alphonse said happily, before turning to Ed. "Nii-san, I'm going to go help with that."

In one breath, Ed yelled, "Okay, fine, good, just get out!" Alphonse left with a cheerful wave, and Ed watched him go with his teeth grit and an expression of absolute certainty things would not be okay. Alphonse took the stairs carefully, and the room was silent as they all listened to his fading footfalls. After ten or so Ed moved his gaze to Roy, and their eyes met.

Roy's dark and tired stare was dominating, and feeling like a stump, the White Ice Alchemist glanced between Ed and Roy uncomfortably, and wisely kept silent and waited.

Ed could feel Roy's irritation pumping forward in thick hot air, as if Roy's body were red coals touching water. His silence was scolding disappointment, and Ed cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to break Roy's blank angry look. The top of his cell was dripping with the pooling condensation. After a long silence, and no movement in the room, Ed offered a truce and apology, asking, "You want me to reign it in?" This was one of Roy's more popular phrases. Ed had been hearing it for years. When Roy was near his tolerance limit, he wanted things to stop.

"I want you to reign it in," Roy said firmly.

Ed gave a quick and sincere nod. "Okay." His tone was solemn. "I will do that for you."

Roy felt relieved and turned to go. You could call Ed many things, but one thing you could not call him was dishonest or flippant. Although he took to famously spewing bullshit to wiggle out of accountability, or cast himself in a more desired light, like white lies, it was all, even the bullshit, calculated. _I will do that for you._ That sentence was deliberate, and it meant something specific to Ed. Roy understood it by definition as a trade, it was Elric-Speak, and the boys had been doing it for years.

Roy had removed Alphonse in a gracious way, and now Ed was thanking him with true effort to placate work life. One favor for another: Equivalent exchange.

* * *

After what they referred to as, The Fiasco, and reconnaissance simply referred to as, The Flood, Roy found his day significantly disrupted. Fuery was taken off his project of locating weapon certificate catalogs, which they needed compiled, and relocated to communications with Alphonse, a needed, but far less pressing project. This left Roy hunting through records to complete the cataloging project, and returning to his work later. At five he told everyone he planned to leave in a few minutes so they would go, and instead stayed well into the evening. He had nothing previously planned, and with upcoming dates on his calendar, he decided to alleviate some of his work stress by catching up on his actual work.

At eight thirty Hawkeye returned to the office wearing a casual pair of jeans and flattering dress shirt. She opened the office door, leaned into the woodwork, and smiled knowingly at Roy, with a teasing, "Fancy meeting you here."

Roy was hunched over his desk with a fat report in hand and his pen tracing the lines as he read. With her arrival he dropped it, and sat back in his chair with a short laugh. "Did you forget something?" he asked.

"No, I saw the light still on."

Roy chuckled again. _That level of observant was so like her._ She often nagged him to keep his bedroom curtains closed, and he teased her about driving slowly by his house, crouched over the wheel, and peering into his windows trying to sneak a peek. When he did so she would laugh and swat at him, because they both knew this wasn't so. She didn't know if his curtains were open or closed, she thought about how they should be closed, because she thought about his safety.

Roy noticed the local shopping market bag housing what appeared to be Tupperware over her arm and hoped she was in such a mood she actually left her house to bring him something she baked. "Is that for me?" he asked, giving her an award winning smile.

"No," she said, laughing a bit. "How much longer are you planning to stay?"

"I'm packing up," he lied.

"Like you were packing up earlier?"

"In a half hour than."

She took this answer, and said good night. Roy returned to his report under the music of her traveling feminine heels, until he realized they were traveling in the wrong direction. She went to the stair well, and he knew there was only one place she could be going.

For no other reason than self-curiosity he followed her, making sure to take his time so when he arrived at the basement level, he could hear her voice floating out through the open holding room door.

"Come on," Hawkeye said kindly. "Come on Ed, make one for me." Moments later there was a flash of alchemy, and when Roy approached the door and peeked in, she was sitting in a fold out chair composed of the cement floor. It had grown upward directly in front of Ed's cell, and Hawkeye took a seat, smiling pleasantly, and fed the Tupperware she'd brought through the bars to Ed's outstretched hand.

"You didn't have to," Ed said shyly.

"That's very true." Hawkeye looked pleased.

"I am sorry to put you on the spot like this. I really appreciate you putting him up," Ed said, staring down at the Tupperware on his lap. "I'll repay the favor, Hawkeye."

Ed's words were heavy, and Hawkeye was silent out of respect for Ed's sincerity before smiling again. "We're occupying ourselves okay," she said. "We've been chopping vegetables with large knives, went to the range and fired military grade assault weapons, and then went to the park for a long run over a neglected path of rocks and thorn heavy plants." Ed began a soft laugh with her teasing. "Tonight, I was planning to build a large fire outside your building so we could kill an animal and eat its poorly cooked flesh in the open moist night air."

Ed looked up with a tired appreciative smile, and said, "Very funny."

"The company had been nice, and Alphonse has really been a big help," Hawkeye said, falling serious again. "There was a patch of wallpaper I hated in my apartment closet and he took it off the wall for me with one hand drawn circle."

"Well, my brother has a way with the ladies," Ed said, opening the Tupperware and looking in.

Hawkeye leaned closer to the cell bars. "Ed, I can't stay long because Alphonse is in the car."

"How's he doing?" Ed asked, voice stone hard.

"He's been complaining he's cold and has been a big sluggish, but we've been practicing sitting down for twenty minutes of every hour and that has been helping. He was running a fever for a short period, but he hasn't crossed a hundred and one. Tonight we're going to blend foods, only foods from the top shelf of your refrigerator, and I'll make sure his fever doesn't resurface." Hawkeye was reporting in a soft but serious tone. "His bleeding has stopped, and I bought a heavy lotion for him to try, a female soldier at Briggs I know uses it on her face because she says the winter wind is so brutal up there." Ed was listening intently. "It's sensitive, but strong, and we're using that on anything that irritates him, it's really been helping."

"I can't thank you enough." Ed was almost breathless.

"You thank me plenty." Hawkeye reached through the bars and overlapped Ed's hand with hers. He was holding the side of the Tupperware, but she gave it a warm squeeze just the same. "The psychiatrist who is going to talk to you," Hawkeye said, lowering her voice, "I know you're aware she is a friend of mine." Ed said nothing. "I wanted to let you know…that I'm going to respect your privacy. She won't share anything with me, Ed." Ed didn't respond, but his expression weakened as if keeping it stoic was a struggle. "I want you to have the chance to be honest with her if you need to be. She's a good person, and I'm hoping that she can give you some advice." Ed licked his lips a bit uneasily, and dropped his gaze back to his dinner. "You're a very good alchemist." Ed's gaze leapt back to Hawkeye's face. "You could teach another alchemist, even a skilled one, many things." Hawkeye gave Ed's hand one last squeeze and took hers back. "Just because her trade is different, don't close your mind to the fact she might have knowledge she can share with you, to make you stronger in an area we all have room to grow." Hawkeye stood to leave and gave Ed one last smile. "It does not mean your weak."

Roy left before Hawkeye so her brief meeting with Ed was private. He returned to his empty office and sat alone at his desk thinking about what she'd said, and the fact she was strong enough to say it. He had also thought about the fact Ed's psychiatrist was an indirect acquaintance, and therefore, someone they might lift undisclosed information from.

As Ed's direct report, Ed's psychiatric evaluation was information Roy was privy too, and that was why unreported information from the psychologist would be valuable. Even in the worst case scenario, with Ed identified insane, as long as the report didn't suggest Ed was going to go out into the streets and murder shamelessly, or sneak off to join an enemy army with Amestrian secrets, being insane was not something the military necessarily looked down on. They might assign Ed some mandatory medication and additional training, but other than that, insanity often made wars easier to win. An insane alchemist, was more eager to perform alchemy in combat than one tethered to sanity with ethical introspection.

An hour later, when Roy finally grabbed his coat and locked the office, he strolled downstairs for one final goodnight. He entered casually, his arrival announced by the echoing sound of his boots, and crossed the room with his coat tossed over his shoulder, and a single finger hooking it in place.

Ed was alone in the vacant room of three cells, lying on his cot staring at the ceiling. With his hands linked behind his head Ed moved only his gaze to Roy when the man leaned into the side of the cell and cocked a questioning eyebrow. Hawkeye's opened Tupperware was on the floor displaying the masterpiece inside. There was a fat stuffed pepper, large seasoned chicken breast, considerable serving of mash potatoes, and side of string beans dressed in oil and garlic. It was a feast that Roy could smell.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

Roy looked back to the food. It was arranged inside the Tupperware with deliberate care. Hawkeye had nestled a fork, knife, and napkin into the side. You could have lifted the entire meal out, set it on a restaurant dinner dish, and charged fifty cens for it.

Roy smirked playfully and lifted his gaze back to Ed with a humored question written across his face: _Then why don't you eat?_

"Look how nice it looks," Ed said, considering the food with truthful appreciation. "She made it for me."

* * *

Thank you to all! Please review.

To those reviewing and logging in, gold stars. To the many I know who won't sign in, I still very very much appreciate you. Then last, but certainly not least, to those I'm not too familiar with (such as ZeyTheFox and Night), you're all great.

Chapter Six: Symptom of the Rake, will be posted 02/03/17.


	7. Symptoms of the Rake

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Six  
 _Symptoms of the Rake_

\- mirage–

Dinner at the Elric apartment was dreadfully unappealing. Hawkeye made one meal, and ate with Alphonse.

He was nervously disturbed with her food preparation, hovered over her, and insisted on cleaning up. Raised under traditional values, he was desperately cautious not to place her in the role of a made, and privately, Hawkeye found this adorable. Alphonse was sweet by nature, and he was easy to enjoy.

They amused themselves with conversation as she cooked bland unseasoned mash potatoes. Alphonse knew the meal was sad, seemed worried she was forced under some guise of etiquette partake, and was mentally comparing it to the enticing dish she'd prepared earlier for Ed, while Hawkeye pretended not to notice.

They ate slow, with Alphonse in a state of cautious high alert, taking incredibly small bites, and over chewing everything. Afterward he left to shower. Took her with him to the bathroom and warned her of the glazed tub, where Ed's automail abrasive chemicals polished the porcelain dangerously. He warned her for her safety, and not his own. Boasted confidentially that he could manage himself using the two support rails the Elrics had installed, looking unashamed and unembarrassed, because Edward used them too. While limited to the traction of a single flesh foot, was the reason they were there, and Hawkeye accepted this sharing of information with a force smile. Resigned herself to Alphonse's inability to filter Ed's personal information, and tolerated the disclosure with a vow of confidence, and what she hoped were unrevealing expressions.

She set up camp in the living room, tossing down a sleeping bag. Alphonse took care of himself well, and left his shower pink from the warm water. His activities consumed an absorbent amount of time, and although he was concerned with her sleeping on the floor, rather than a couch, or a bed, let her convince him she'd experienced far worse, and didn't mind.

He went to bed early, at nine, and she was left reading until eleven. Woke again shortly after two when he dropped to his knees alongside her shoulders, with all of him shivering, and whispered, "I'm sorry I'm waking you," sounding worried.

"What is it?" Hawkeye lifted to an elbow. It was too dark to see his expression, but his trembling body was a frail stalk in the moonlight.

"I am having some trouble managing my body temperature." His tone was crushed with embarrassment, and overwhelmed with despair. _Waking her, when she was nice enough to stay with him._ "I am sorry," he whimpered, "can you help me?"

"Of course." Hawkeye sat up, pulling the hair tie from her wrist to trap her loose strands. "What should I do?"

"I…need my brother."

Hawkeye was speechless. "Alphonse, that's not going to be possible." She worried about how clearly he was thinking half asleep and sounding ill. "What can we do to help the situation?" She tried to redirect him. "Tell me, what I can do."

"Nii-san, lets me sleep with him." With the exhaustion Alphonse sounded years younger, childlike, and innocent. "Can we get him?" Hawkeye shook her head slowly, steeling herself for a scenario where she was asked heartbreaking questions, and would have to refute and deny. "Can I call him?" Alphonse whined. "Just a little?" Sounded desperate. "I need him right now."

"I am…so sorry." She meant this. "There is no phone he has access to." Alphonse reached forward, and his grasp felt of nothing but cold hard bones. It was startling, both in the strength of the grip, and the fleeting sense of death. _As if he were a corpse._

"Can I sleep with you?"

She reached for him, and it was eerie, but his cold skin against her healthy flesh, sent her panicking. "My God, Alphonse." He was as cold as death, and she opened her blankets. Welcomed him forward, humbled by his trust, and enveloped by an instinctual urge to help care for him. "Come inside." She helped him slip in. "It's okay." His feet were bare, and she pulled them against her legs, and spooned him.

Alphonse startled with surprise. Took hold of her arm with thin dry fingers, and asked, "Is this okay?" Sounding uncertain, and willing to trust she wouldn't lie to him.

"For a little bit." Hawkeye's mind was spinning. Combing over their evening and hunting for how this could have happened. "Did—did you wake up cold?"

"I threw up."

In a rush, she covered them to their chins. "Are you sick?" Felt his forehead. "Should I do something?" He was leaching the heat from her body, and she dared not move. "Does that mean something, Alphonse? Does it mean something that you've thrown up?" Was this a symptom or sign of something they should note?

"It happens sometimes when I sleep." He was resting on her pillow. "It just wakes me up. We're not sure why it happens." Like most everything else. "Nii-san things its because I might be resting on my stomach for too long too close to eating, but," a soft smile entered his tone, "eating at night makes me tired."

"You're brave to push through all of this, Alphonse. Ed loves you so much. He sees how hard you're trying, and it's easy to see how he's trying in return."

"Have I gotten him…into a lot of trouble?"

Hawkeye felt the conversation expand from something she felt capable of discussing to something new. "Why do you ask?"

"He's been away for a while now, and hasn't come to see me at all." It was depressing. "He should have snuck out and come here to let me know what's going on, and he hasn't." Hawkeye tucked Alphonse in tighter, and closed her hands around his to warm them. "That doesn't mean you've housed him well, it means he's too scared to sneak out. Things must be serious."

Hawkeye pet her hand up to Alphonse's forehead and then back to the crown of his head. "Your recovery has the doctors confused, and they're worried Ed might not be helping you the right way." This seemed the most polite way to explain it.

"They're going to assume I'm being hurt, to look like this, and they'll think Nii-san's the one doing it." Alphonse sounded as certain as he was devastated by this fact. "It's just as much my fault as his I lost my body, but he's the only one who helped me get it back." Alphonse returned Hawkeye's cradling grip on his hands with a gentle squeeze. "You know Nii-san doesn't hurt me, right?" Something in his tone was a disappointed accusation, but then softly came a scared and whispered, "Right?"

"Yes." Even with evidence suggesting otherwise, in her heart she felt she knew what Edward was capable of. Remembered him as the innocent little boy waiting about Mustang's desk looking nervous, but eager to do his best. _And how could you ever think something so genuine and caring could maliciously hurt their own?_

"Then…will you tell him you don't believe them?"

Hawkeye was taken back. There was something about discussing this with Ed that made her seem as if she was pushing a rude subject into his face unnecessarily. She had not opened it for discussion on purpose, and felt Ed was ashamed of his charges.

"Please?" Alphonse tugged at her hand. "I don't want Nii-san to feel alone." _Did Ed feel isolated in his shame and guilt?_ "The Colonel is tough on him, and Nii-san takes it to heart." A glimmer of moisture caught the moonlight on Alphonse's cheek, and Hawkeye felt her mood plummet further. Around them the living room furniture was murky shadows, and she didn't respond. "I am the one who put him in this position, and I'm useless this way. I can't think well, I don't feel like myself, I know I'm not acting like myself, I just…" Alphonse's voice choked into a rasp, and Hawkeye came to realize the glimmer she thought were tears, was a growing nose bleed. "…Just didn't word things right."

Hawkeye reached up to the coffee table and fished for tissues. _What fool gave Alphonse details to Ed's charges._ Plucking a few down, she delicately brought them to his nose.

"Your brother knows you would never do anything to hurt him Alphonse," she said firmly. "A simple misunderstanding will never confuse him, and the Colonel," _oh the Colonel,_ "the Colonel will help him in every way he can. Mustang will not abandon Ed, he's a good man, and he values Ed's friendship."

Alphonse gave a sniffle and wiped at his eyes. "I feel sick. Bile keeps pushing up my throat, and I feel bloated in my lower intestines."

"Hey now," she teased. "I hope you're not insulting my award-winning potatoes."

Alphonse choked a tiny tear filled laugh. "When can Nii-san come home?"

"Tomorrow." She held the tissues and felt the blood soak in. "Tomorrow."

* * *

Mustang's first call of the morning was from Drachma, where he confirmed the train ticket and Central hotel they had reserved for Ms. Sanders. She was on her way, and sounded excited to visit Central and return to Amestris. It was winter in the North, and the storms had been bad.

The second call was from Hawkeye, and she skipped pleasantries for demands.

"I can't just let him out of his cell," Roy argued. "Lieutenant, people will notice, and this reflects poorly on all of us."

"You have to send him." Her tone was serious, nonnegotiable, and audibly there was something riding on this but she wasn't saying what. "Sir, you need to do this." Roy gave a groaning sigh and lifted his gaze to the office. Havoc, Falman, and Breda were working diligently on a stack of paperwork, and Fuery was piecing together small electronic pieces he kept referring to as, chips. "Sir?"

"Even if I could sneak him out for a bit, what for? What will it accomplish?"

Hawkeye's tone became short, and sounding frustrated, she said, "Trust." As if it should have been obvious. "It demonstrates to Edward that you trust him. That you're not accusing him of these things."

Roy felt slighted with his oversight, and assaulted with the muddling emotions that came with it. _Was he a hundred percent certain of Ed's innocence?_

"Sir, you need to do it." Hawkeye continued with her stern tone. "You need to do it, and if you haven't decided whether or not you have faith in his innocence, then let me tell you," she lowered her voice, "you do." A silence lingered before she repeated a crisp and guiding, "You do."

* * *

Mustang ordered Breda to release Ed from his cell and take him to his dorm with as much stealth as possible. With Alchemy Ed changed the color of his coat and tucked his hair into a ball cap so he would be as inconspicuous as possible. The drive was silent, and Breda returned to Command after pulling to the curb before Ed's building so he could step out.

Unaware Ed was coming, Alphonse was huddled under a blanket on the couch, temperature a degree too low, and fighting a bronchial wheeze.

Ed charged into the apartment as if running a race. The slamming door a gunshot, before Ed's heavy footfalls stormed to Alphonse, and Hawkeye's fear of an explosion, or intruder, fell away with Alphonse's loud and relieved, "Nii-san!"

Stepping from the bathroom sink, where she'd been wetting a cloth for Alphonse's forehead, Hawkeye found him seated on the couch. Ed a kneeling statue hugging Alphonse's bundled torso like a groveling peasant to a king.

It looked as if she'd have time to speak, after a silence sensitive of their reunion, but she was wrong. Almost as quickly as Ed was hugging, he sat back, uprooting, with a rushed and stern, "Listen to me, Al. Whatever anyone tells you I did, I want you to know, I didn't." Ed was shaking his head quickly. "I have never hurt you, and you know that, right?" Tone wavering with something very close to raw fear.

Alphonse reached forward and grasped Ed's shoulders with an expression of heartbreaking concern. "Nii-san, I didn't do what you said. I forgot to use my memories to judge the situation, and I really gave some people the wrong idea." Alphonse looked defeated. "What have I done?" he asked softly. "How bad did I mess things up?"

"It's okay, it was an accident," Ed whispered, flesh hand moving quickly to his face for some quick rubbing. "I know this wasn't your fault." Hawkeye stepped back into the bathroom when the heel of Ed's palm began swiping discretely over his eyes. "We'll clear it up, and forget all about it." Ed didn't sound as if he thought this was true. "I just got scared thinking maybe you were," he paused, and sniffled, "confused or, about something or, thought maybe…"

Alphonse twisted his expression with mock disgust. "Please," he said, "if I came back that stupid, we'd be in real trouble."

Ed managed a weak laugh, and cleared his sinuses. "So, ah," he said, giving a fast glance around. "So where's the Lieutenant? She's still here with you, right? You're not alone, right? How are you doing?"

"Yes, she's here. She's getting me a warm cloth for my head. I'm cold." Ed pressed his hand to Alphonse's forehead with unease. "I felt sick and dizzy this morning, and I've been really cold"

"What's your temperature?"

"Ninety-six."

"How long?" Ed's tone went dry with seriousness, and Alphonse hesitated. Ed pressed his hand to Alphonse's cheek before holding the boy's wrist and taking his pulse. "How's everything else? I've been stuck at Command and fearing the worst."

"It's not too bad really. I'm having nose bleeds, but the blood is minimal, and I'm clotting well. I've been vomiting, but it seems connected to whatever is making me sick. I lost it last night without you. I became too cold."

Ed closed his eyes tightly. "We should have crafted something to generate heat for you. A light source, or a fire, we missed that."

Alphonse seemed tired, and overall discouraged with all the things they missed. _There was always something missed._ "I went and slept with Hawkeye to keep warm."

Ed looked up with surprise. "You slept with her, with her?"

"In her sleeping bag." Alphonse nodded. "But I've been like this all morning so it must have taken a tighter grip on me than I thought."

"Okay," Ed said, scooting forward and gently grasping Alphonse's face. "Let me look at you for a second." Hawkeye watched Ed pull the skin down below both of Alphonse's eyes and look into his mouth and throat. "What did the hospital say?"

"Nothing. They jumped my fluids, but the bleeding stopped naturally. They didn't report anything seriously wrong to me, but they weren't very…amiable about it all. Honestly, I feel more like a criminal than the victim I'm being told I am. I'm completely in the dark."

Ed was silent, and memory of Mustang's angry and confused expression at Central's Police Station came strong. "Yeah," Ed said softly, skirting the topic. "Well your throat looks irritated so that explains your voice. Think it's from the stomach bile?" Alphonse nodded. "You ate only approved stuff, right?" Ed sounded nervous, but Alphonse was nodding immediately. "Were you really careful? Hawkeye might not have known about something. Did you watch her? Did she use a different cooking oil? Or a seasoning, or a new food item?"

"No," Alphonse said, and Hawkeye was proud of the confidence in his voice. "She's been great, Nii-san. She's being very careful."

"Okay," Ed said, getting to his feet. "Let's get you in the tub. We'll correct your temperature with a bath, and then your body will stop exerting unnecessary energy to manage it. Also, we can put some mint in a bit of water for you to sip to help your mouth and throat, are you drinking enough?"

"Yeah, I'm drinking exactly as I'm supposed to." Alphonse stood up slowly with a hand on his stomach looking ill.

"How is your urine, not too dark?"

"Light," Alphonse said, sounding comfortable and happy. "And everything else is okay too, Nii-san."

Ed was on autopilot, heading to the bathroom with Alphonse in hand, before stalling when his gaze met Hawkeye, and he found her there, holding a damp rag.

It was an awkward introduction, and Hawkeye felt it too.

"Hello, Ed." She managed a kind smile. "Don't let me get in the way."

Ed looked painfully uncomfortable. Something as private as his personal space, was now open for tour. Unfairly, Hawkeye's presence represented the entire outside world. A sense of ubiquitous authority imposing in Ed's totalitarian state, and a rush of hot anger shot through his system so fiercely, his brow jumped, as the emotion went into his face.

He was pissed. _He was livid!_ How dare these mother fuckers. _How dare these presumptuous pricks!_ In their diluted attempt to make Alphonse safe, they were putting him in danger, and it was hard. Hard to wring the neck of a faceless accuser, hard to beat the asses of the anonymous lineup dragging him through the mud with these disgusting allegations, and coining him this perverse incestuous pedophile! _Hard to internalize it._ To handle it. _To face them._

Struggling against his own anger, Ed's throat choked a gruff disagreeable sound, while his mind scolded him, because he wasn't anger at her. _No, not at her._ She was just the face in front of him. One of the few people he'd seen since they released him from his cell. Just the messenger. The compassionate, practically non-judgmental messenger standing in for the prying eye Ed understood to be: The Military, Amestris Social Services, and Amestris's Criminal Justice system. It was like stocking her frame with undesirable stuffing, and Ed's stomach was full with a wrath he wanted to unleash on these lucrative parties, and all that was locking it down was a delicate flap of self-restraint. _It was all or nothing._ He could not open the hatch and get a handful, if he opened the hatch there would be a flood.

Ed swallowed thickly, and managed a quick, "Hi, Lieutenant." Slapping a figurative hand down on the flap, and collecting his barring. Hawkeye looked mildly concerned with his bout of silence, but she was giving him time. _She was god damn helping even now!_ "Thanks, and thanks for…you know..." Ed forced the quick degraded shrug of the humiliated party. _What the hell was he supposed to say to her? What etiquette was there for this?_ Etiquette wasn't exactly his strong suit, but this was fucking pathetic. Brought a sense of incriminating shame, as if he were the guilty party, as if he should be incarcerated, and of the three of them he was the one who didn't belong, and this hit like an eviction, and Ed flinched.

Dropped his gaze to his feet and tried to muster something beyond his miserable gratitude and couldn't. "If you could…" he said softly. The next best plan was to get rid of her. "Just give us a second to…"But was she allowed to leave? Was he allowed to be alone with Alphonse? A rush of concern stormed Ed with the realization he was excusing her to help Alphonse into a bath. _Oh, fuck._ Was he shoveling his hole deeper? Did he sound like the freak they were telling him he was! Was she going to wonder! Wonder why the hell he was following Alphonse into the bathroom so he could help him undress, and was she going to suspect he actually craved to do this, the way he was actually craving to do it!

Not for the reasons they listed, but because it made him well, in a way he couldn't express he was ill, to see Alphonse safe. To confirm with his own eyes that pieces weren't falling off, and nothing was dying, because in a way, it always felt like Alphonse was dying, because it seemed too good to be true he was still alive.

For Hawkeye, Ed's discomfort was painfully visible, as if he'd been hit with mud and the ignominy was crusted to his face. Until this was over, there was nothing that could take it away. Nothing that could be said to help. With only one thing important to Ed, he was waiting for what he needed, and wanted, to come clean, and Hawkeye exited the bathroom quickly.

Ed looked ill with her presence. Unsure how to gracefully handle her, and unintentionally hanging so tight to Alphonse's hand, Alphonse was concerned with the pressure, but remained mutely supportive.

"Please, don't let me bother you," Hawkeye said, glancing between both pairs of golden eyes as she breezed past. "I'll stay out of your way. I'm just going to wash up yesterday's dinner dishes, and clean my pistol." She left for the kitchen, and called back a friendly, "And I don't want to hear any gender jokes for doing so."

Alphonse didn't recognize the male soldiers' desire to tease their female counterparts about their domestic tasks, and the reference sailed over his head, but Hawkeye's good-natured return to normality hit Ed's fire like a bucket of cold water and left him stunned.

Ed left, swallowing quickly, and feeling sabotaged by his own mind for becoming angry, confusing her for the enemy, and doubting her loyalty. She was more than one of Mustang's team, she was one of his team, because he was Mustang's team, and they didn't turn on each other. She didn't think ill of him, and he didn't need to be embarrassed in front of her. He felt blindsided by his own degrading thoughts and Mustang's voice flittered through Ed's mind. _Alphonse trusts her, and so do we._

Then she mentioned the dishes.

Ed was half way through the bathroom entrance, when he stalled, instantly opposed, and called a quick, "You don't," fumbled unsure of how to correct this, and landed with, "You don't have to trouble yourself, Hawkeye," because female soldiers were at the butt of ever domestic gag their way. No matter the skill or the rank, set her near a kitchen, and the jokes started rolling. "Just leave them there. I'll get to them." Accepting her domestic assistance felt uncomfortably like taking advantage of her, and they weren't raised to stuff women into weak female stereotypes. _Sensei had seen to that._

Hawkeye went to the sink and turned on the water teasing a dry, "I'm just as good at washing dishes as I'm at breaking faces."

It ended things. Ed had no response. He looked overly nonplussed, in more than one way, abandoned the exchange, and took Alphonse into the bathroom.

Against the tiles, his optimistic and excited chatter echoed as if he were still in the armor, and it brought a smile to Hawkeye's face. Returned the memories of the boys when they were younger, and Ed's work would separate him from Alphonse for long hours, so their reunion was something of a celebration for them. Christened first with the uninvited arrival of Alphonse in Mustang's office, before his reintroduction to Ed who was often tired, dirty, or returning from long travel, and recharged onsite of the boy's presence.

Angrily, Roy used to refer to these events as, "god damn tea parties." The unexpected and misplaced noise of the brothers breaking into secluded conversation in the middle of a crowded room that seemed to no longer exist. As narrow-minded children, they weren't aware of their disruption, and so eager to see one another, were simply completing a step that felt comfortable to them, but Roy could only tolerate this if they were in route for the door. As this was not always the case, Hawkeye had many cherished memories of Roy shuffling through papers, and speaking to himself in a raised tone he was certain would be heard by everyone, and complaining, "This is a military office, not a god damn tea parlor."

On the few occasions the boys were too engrossed to take this hint, it was commonly followed by Roy slamming down his pen, pointing to the door, and ordering, "Elric! Take your tea party somewhere else, there are people working here."

In the bathroom the tub was running, and the sound of items being moved about in preparation for a bath was domestically familiar. The boys sounded peaceful. Audible talking to one another, before Ed left twice to visit the bedroom for clothing and supplies. He was constantly questioning, and reassuring, questioning, and reassuring, while Alphonse responded, sounding ill and congested.

The mood changed suddenly, with them both behind the bathroom door. The cheery atmosphere disappeared, and Alphonse began loud objecting Ed was talking over. Like a parent to a small child, Ed's tone was instructional, but affectionately commanding. Alphonse was frenetic, and Hawkeye quickly stopped the dish water to listen.

Her first instinct was to aid, but with Ed home, she had to believe he could handle it. It wasn't her place to intervene, and she was sensitive not to overstep him because doing so meant disrespecting him in a way she was certain he would not soon forget, and not readily forgive.

The moment before Hawkeye breached uncomfortable territory and approached the ajar bathroom door to hover outside it, was the moment she vowed to leave the sound of Alphonse in such great dress to Ed.

"Alphonse, Alphonse, listen to me." Inside the bathroom, Ed was speaking quickly. Tone urgent, and voice stern and dominating within an entrapped tiled space. "Alphonse, look at me, it's not too hot. Alphonse? It's not too hot. You are cold."

Alphonse was panicking. "I can't feel some of me!" Sounded erratic and defensive. "It's going to freeze and die!"

Ed attacked these concerns. "That's absolutely impossible."

"I can't feel my toes, and my fingers are tingling! You're scalding my new body!"

"I'm not scalding anything." Ed's response was quick and sharp. Tone wobbling between concerned reassurance, and commonplace frustration. "Nothing is freezing off, and nothing is being cooked, got that? Nothing. Now look at me, it's just feeling hot, it's not really that hot in actuality! Here, hold this." There was a pause of silence, and then Alphonse was whining again. "Hold it steady, we'll study the water together."

"Nii-san, I want to get out!"

"Okay, but you have to stay in." There was a brief splash. The forward motion of a body submerged in water, meeting restraint. "Alphonse, you have to stay in."

"Then you get in!"

"No!" Ed sounded alarmed. "I can't. We can't, understand? Alphonse, look me in the eye, look at me."

Hawkeye curled her hand to a fist, and set her knuckles against the door, prepared to knock, but it slid inward the softest centimeter, and she halted. Slid her fingers into the crack in which it had not been closed, and opened it the few inches necessary to see inside, and check on them.

Alphonse was sitting in the filled tub. His hungry body just skin and bones about the peppered bruises. They were varying dark blotches, blue patches, and yellow smears from dissimilar pressures and surfaces. He was shaking with discomfort, expression mangled with distress, and kneeling at the tub side, Ed was stripped of his jacket with both elbows propped on the porcelain, and the metal hand a peace sign directing Alphonse's gaze to his own.

"Alphonse." Ed was speaking softly. "We've got to get better at being normal or we're going to be in big trouble." The tone was serious. "People don't understand what we're doing."

"Nii-san, this isn't right." Alphonse's expression was twisted with agony. "This doesn't make scientific sense. Something must be wrong with me!" Alphonse was hugging his torso with his arms and rattling as if the core of his body were an ill working motor struggling to function. "I just want this fixed, Nii-san. I don't care about being normal! I just want to be better!"

Ed tipped his head forward with exhausted defeat, and it hung from his neck like a string. Releasing a slow, steadying breath, he looked up, and whispered, "Okay." Gave Alphonse a few reassuring nods and a smile. "Okay."

"Thanks," Alphonse whined.

"Lay back, let's get you all the way in."

"I'm not cold blooded! This isn't going to work!"

"It is one hundred percent going to work." Ed helped Alphonse back until there was nothing above the surface save Alphonse's pale and scrawny face, and Ed had both hands in the water, keeping a tight protecting grasp. "You're going to go back to ninety-nine degrees, Alphonse. Say it with me."

Alphonse whined miserably. "Ninety-nine." Broke into quick breaths of worried endurance, and opened a new topic. "What if Hawkeye has to stay here a long time?" Fisted in his body hand was a half-submerged thermometer, and he pawed uncomfortably at the slender stick. "I might need you and you won't be here. You won't be here when I need you."

Ed looked slapped, but forced a quick recovery. Choked a breath, and in a playful tone, managed a teasing, "Oh, come on." Smiled. "Hawkeye is like," Ed lifted a palm from the water and slid it through the air to symbolize perfect skill, "super qualified, she's a master." Alphonse watched this action, looking weary and unconvinced. "In fact I was thinking about taking a holiday and locking her in here. I could take my sweet ass time journeying to Xing and have Ling put me up like royalty."

Alphonse was not reassured with the humor. "What do I do if something private happens to me? Do I get her help? What if more blood appears, or if I keep not being able to focus in the mornings or if I…need…help doing things."

Ed was thoughtfully silent. He gave the top of Alphonse's bath a small absent flick with his metal fingers before meeting Alphonse's troubled gaze with one of kindness.

"Do you feel comfortable with her?"

"I don't want to get her arrested too!" Alphonse was horrified. "Look what I did to you by accident!"

"First off," Ed said firmly. "Mustang would never let that happen. Just think about it. All alone in that office to sleep, he'd be fired." Ed gave a playful shrug, forcing humor weak enough to shake, but strong enough to stand without prodding. "He'd probably march right down here and get her, and if he does, you can show him."

"Is that what you want me to do?" Alphonse asked softly, looking mildly comforted with Ed's jesting. "Should I call the Colonel?"

"I want you to do…" Ed trailed softly, again trapped in a world where he had to make decisions quickly, stand by them, enable them, and was making things up as he went. "…what you feel comfortable doing. If you feel you need help, you go get it, from whoever that is. Call anyone. Call Granny, Sensei, Hawkeye, my bastard Colonel, anyone, just make sure you get yourself help."

"I didn't think about calling Granny," Alphonse said absently, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. His shaking had all but subsided, and the bath water was correcting his temperature with scientific accuracy. "Granny could probably really help."

"You know she's seen my ass tons of times." With Alphonse stable, Ed slowly released his hold and sat back against the wall, exhausted. "So you bleeding would be, old boring news."

Alphonse smiled and looked to Ed with appreciation. "Nii-san?" Ed lifted tired eyebrows. "I picked up all the underwear you had on the floor before Hawkeye could see them." Alphonse was proud, and Ed broke a wide grin and began a soft slow chuckle.

"Always looking out for me."

"But if you don't start using the hamper I am just going to transmute it into something more useful." Alphonse's tone was tolerantly chastising and Ed's grin widened.

"And so creatively resourceful." Ed pushed himself up and stretched. "Okay, now sit tight. I am going to go make something to keep you warm at night."

Hawkeye stepped away from the door, and returned to the kitchen. Ed exited the bathroom and gave her a weary smile in route to the bedroom. She followed, and lingered in the doorway watching him.

Ed went to the foot of Alphonse's bed and considered it with his hands on his hips and his mind solving invisible puzzles.

"Ed, I'm sorry things have been so hectic." What could you really say, and she felt guilt. Had just been the bystander ready to barge into the bathroom after she told herself she wouldn't, and that he could handle it. _Had just witnessed him handling it._

Ed looked over. There was no backup guardian for Alphonse, and given Alphonse's complications, Ed was impressed Hawkeye was brave enough to try after the first blunder. The fact that her involvement had helped lead to his bleeding, hospitalization, and ultimately the situation they were all in, weighed heavy on her mind, and Ed could see it, but hospitalizing Alphonse was still a bit better than sealing his body in that gate to rot.

"I wish I could be of more help," Hawkeye said.

Ed lifted his eyebrows with surprise. "Really." He knelt down and clapped a transmutation into the metal waste paper basket alongside Alphonse's night stand. It reformed as a circular pot set on raised legs with a front grated window. It looked like a small travel coal fireplace. "I think you're doing enough to get an A in my book."

Ed passed Hawkeye in route to the kitchen without a glance. He went directly to the oven and opened it so he could stick his head in. Watching him with confusion, Hawkeye kept silent. He was examining the four top burners.

"I can't stay too long," Ed said, head in the oven, and voice echoing. "So I want to just, make sure he has stuff he needs." Ed uprooted and clapped the top of the stove. Several pieces inside let loose and dropped into the racks. "This will make it easier for you." Ed grabbed the pieces and carried them back to the bedroom. "And order some food on me while you're here!" He called. "We weren't really expecting guests!"

In the bedroom Ed knelt down and transmuted his new items into a safe Bunsen burner below the metal pot. It would heat water or air, and when Hawkeye approached the bedroom door he looked up and flashed her a smile. "This should help him stay warm. I am, ah…sorry, about last night." Ed blushed faintly. "I don't mean to keep putting you in these odd situations."

"It wasn't odd."

Ed stood and dusted his hands on the back of his pants. "Okay, I am going to go work on my automail for a bit, then I should go."

"Do you want something to eat while you're here? I plan to order in all sorts of expensive food."

Ed passed Hawkeye grinning. "That would be amazing."

Alphonse climbed from the tub himself, and toweled off with Ed at the bathroom sink, flesh hand in a glove, doing maintenance on his metal arm. Alphonse felt much better with his temperature stable, and his voice abandoned the raspy sound of abused sinuses for something healthy. Dressed in large sweat pants and a long sleeve shirt, he returned to the couch, and curled up with a pillow waiting.

Ed worked on his leg once the arm was completed, and left the bathroom limping. This brought a mocking younger-sibling laugh from Alphonse, and he sung, "You've been slacking off, Nii-san." Ed responded with a miserable grunt. "You know what happens when you're lazy and ignore your maintenance."

Ed was standing and flexing his metal knee through a mild wince. "It's amazing how my own family litters my agenda with burdensome legal concerns when all I want is to devote my time to my automail." Ed hobbled his way to the couch trailing the smell of fresh oil. Alphonse was already snuggled down, but Ed took to tucking the blanket about him just the same. "Stay bundled up so you keep your temperature for a few hours. Don't make your body work for it."

"Can you stay?"

"I should really go."

Alphonse reached forward and snatched the front of Ed's shirt in protest, before requesting, "Lie with me."

Ed paused, considering. He was on a time limit, Roy had made that clear. Breda had shown up carrying a stack of papers, energy drink, and the key to the holding cell, and said, "Hey Bro, the Colonel's letting you out." Wearing a wide grin, he'd belched, and unlocked the door adding, "One hour," and Ed knew Roy was serious about the timeframe, so didn't want to spend it idle, but still…there was something incredibly appealing about lying on the couch.

"Just for five minutes?" An innocently scheming smile spread across Alphonse's face, and Ed surrendered.

"Okay, scoot over." Ed slid on next to Alphonse and covered them. Once comfortable he sighed a loud, exaggerated, "Ah," and Alphonse laughed.

Hawkeye kept her comments to herself. She finished the dishes, made Ed a sandwich, and expected Alphonse to be sleeping because he drifted off randomly while resting, and was surprised, when she carried the sandwich over, to find Ed asleep as well. Not just lightly, but deeply, and peacefully, so she returned it to the refrigerator, and when Roy called, hot Ed had not yet returned, she refused to wake him.

"What do you mean he's napping?" Roy asked, angrily.

"He's sleeping on the couch, and looks like he really needs it."

"He's been stuck in a cell with only a cot! I'm sure he's been sleeping a lot lately!" Roy had no tolerance for this deviation. "Now tell him to get his metal ass back here!"

Hawkeye was frowning. "Why don't you tell Havoc to go sit in the cell with his back to the door. No one will even notice." This plan was so flawed Roy sputtered a noise of shocked frustration. "Sir, you know how I used to tease you I'd get that little Zen garden for your desk?"

Roy slammed his fist down. "So when I'm stressed I can sit here and rake!"

"Yes." That was exactly why _._ "Ed is raking right now," she said, "and I am not going to stop him."

* * *

Thank you, all! Please review for me!

Chapter 7: _Outside the Scope of Practice_ , will be posted 02/17/17.

This chapter will include my augmented posting schedule for March as I'll be traveling to South East Asia and will have limited connectivity. I'll try to leave with cliff hanger ( _just kidding!_ ).


	8. Outside the Scope of Practice

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Seven  
 _Outside the Scope of Practice_

\- mirage–

Alphonse woke forty minutes later, in a rough coughing fit.

Hawkeye had seated herself at the kitchen counter, cleaning her pistol with a cup of tea. With it in pieces about the counter, she scrubbed the bore of her barrel with a cautious eye on the door. It was possible Roy would come down to give them an ear full and drag Ed back to his cell. Or it was possible that unable to see over his paperwork, Mustang would throw his frustration into their compounding work. With a sense of guilt Hawkeye was hoping for the latter when Alphonse sat up choking on his air and retching. He dove over Ed's torso dry heaving, and vomited to the floor with Ed startling awake in a rapid twitch of the automail, and offensive snatch of Alphonse's neck.

The move was instinctual; Ed's hand shot out and grabbed the source of what had pounced over him with frightening accuracy and strength, but Alphonse slapped Ed's lethal grip aside as if it were nothing more than an obnoxious bother.

Ed began loudly, with a fast, "Hey, whats!" and quickly gathering the situation, finished with, "are you pukin'!" He grabbed Alphonse's juddering shoulders, and tried to steady him while Alphonse finished hacking up partially digested food and bile, but Alphonse brushed this off as well.

He finished, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and climbed off the couch in a quick staggering pace to the bathroom.

Ed scrambled along, with a loud, "What happened!" Alphonse was holding his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other. "Are you okay!"

"I'm just nauseous." Alphonse was limping to the bathroom on autopilot. Groping at the furniture for support as he passed, and pausing just past the couch with a discrete protesting grab of his crotch as if he might lose his bladder.

Ed played the role of the fretting mother hen, and hovered at Alphonse's side. Studying every move and spiking with concern with the grabbing.

"What's happening?" Ed asked, voice rushed with alarm. "Pain?" Alphonse lifted his gaze to the bathroom door and resumed his shuffling. "Anything like before?" He entered with Ed following, but a with a firm hand to Ed's chest, Alphonse returned him to the living room in a slow backpedal, before shutting the door in Ed's face.

Ed was stunned, and broke a quick and demanding, "What's going on!" Politely recognizing the door while remaining but an inch from it's surface. "Are you okay? Alphonse, talk to me so I understand!"

"I just feel sick!" Alphonse called from inside.

"Okay, let me in." A tone of confidence popped in an otherwise panicked one.

"No."

"Why!" Ed grabbed the door knob, and stalled. With a disbelieving jiggle of the handle, he muttered, "You…you locked the door?" Overcome with the foreign lock inserted between them. "Alphonse, listen to me," Ed said, incredibly uneasy, and approaching tight anxiety under the danger of unaddressed complication. _The idea Alphonse might be hiding something he couldn't handle._ "If you're bleeding again, you need to tell me so I can help you. No matter where the blood is coming from, you need to tell me." Alphonse was silent, and the silence grew, stretching uncomfortably.

Hawkeye could see it ravaging the bit of patient tolerance Ed was valiantly holding against his suspicious fright. Ramrod straight before the bathroom door, Ed was growing stiffer before he raked a hand through his hair, took a deep and forced cleansing breath, and shouted a loud accusatory, "Alphonse!" as the very last of his patience gave way.

"I'm thinking!" The response was sharp and curt.

Ed tossed his hands in silent frustration."Of what!" Tipping his head to the door, Ed took hold of the doorframe with both hands. "Of, what!" he demanded, before reigning himself to a civilized tone, and pacifying a gentler, "I mean, of what? What's going on? What's happening that you have to think about?"

"Nii-san, I…think…" Alphonse sounded distracted, and Ed gently knocked his head against the door with groaning endurance. "Think I…my thinking is becoming clearer, and I have come to a decision, and I want to talk about it."

"Well, here I am!" Ed said, frustrated and sarcastic. "I'm ready to talk!"

Alphonse responded to Ed's agitation with a hurried and agitated blurt of speech. "Okay, well I'm deciding when you're home I'm going to take care of myself from now on!" Sounding defensive and annoyed with Ed's behavior. "Entirely independent! I want to be entirely independent!" The sink water turned on. "All the time! Unless dire emergency!"

Ed was silent, absorbing quickly with stunned confusion.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Ed asked. "You do take care of yourself! We both know what dependence looks like, and this isn't it!" Ed jabbed a finger down on his own chest and his words were heavy. He had been a dependent person, trapped in a bed, fed with tubs, bathed with sponges, and this was so very far from the black horror of medical incapacitation the comparison was rude.

"Entirely independent!" Alphonse was washing his face, and his voice bounced about the sink and drain like that in a cavern. _Or metal helmet._ He opened the bathroom door with his face still wet and walked past Ed toward the kitchen. "Unless I'm impotently helpless, Nii-san, I don't want you touching me anymore."

Ed was following blindly, until these words stopped him in his tracks. They hit like a bag of stones, and his attentive expression dropped into one of painful disbelief with the emotional blow.

Alphonse, oblivious, continued talking. "I need to get better myself, and—and I want to do that. I need to figure this out and take care of myself, so I can take care of myself if you get arrested."

Ed's look of fragile suffering didn't disappear, and speaking softly, he said, "It's not my fault I was arrested."

"I'm not saying it is, Nii-san, it's my fault. But that still doesn't change the fact that you were, and I need to know more about what I'm doing. I—I—I need to feel like I can do it. Instead I'm scared without you, and I don't want to be scared living in this body. I don't remember being scared in my flesh body. I want to be okay." Ed gave a quick uneasy nod, willing to agree to anything simply to participate again. Alphonse approached the counter and looked down at the detached slide barrel and stray magazine of Hawkeye's gun. "I want to go back to what it was like when I was in the armor," Alphonse muttered, and there was something of dreamy fantasy in his voice, because there was something about being an impervious knight that was better than wilting away under natural disease. "I feel really strongly about this, Nii-san. I want to go back to how it was. You can't be with me so much anymore."

"Alphonse," Ed said, brittle with stomach clenching fear and uncertainty. "You…" Ed's voice fainted on him, and he licked his lips quickly. "You know I didn't, right?" _Didn't hurt you._ "You know that…right?"

"I'm not an idiot." Alphonse said flatly. "I'm talking to you about scientific study. Something is wrong with me, and we both know it."

Hawkeye shared a quick glance between the brothers. Alphonse sounded certain there was substantial evidence suggesting what was happening was more than a bit of digestive disagreement and skin abrasion.

"You know it too," Alphonse accused softly.

Ed was silent. Written across his face was his unwillingness to accept, and his desperate attempt to delay the stark and rude insistence that Alphonse's improper response was not temporary reaction, but permanent construction.

"This time apart," Alphonse whispered, "has made me realize," he cringed with dread, "I need to separate us." He looked horrified with his admission. "You know that's what we need to do. We're losing our scientific controls. We can't think clearly." Alphonse's slender flesh hand was resting on the counter top and it curled into a shaking fist of dry and pale flesh. "You can't analyze me, so close to me. This experiment is absorbing you."

"I'm not trying to do anything more than help," Ed insisted. " I…" he fell silent, choosing his words.

Hawkeye felt mildly uncomfortable as a spectator, seated at their counter, for while Alphonse was comfortably aware of her, Ed was so immersed, she was positive he was not.

"You can't be certain we're losing our objectivity," Ed said finally.

"You can't be certain we're keeping it." Alphonse's rebuttal was tender. "It's likely we are."

"What do you," Ed mustering a broken shrug, "okay, so…where…"

"Where do we go from here?" Alphonse asked. He reached into the counter where a few pieces of stray mail were tossed, and selected a folded page from the pile. It housed a crude and quick drawing of what some of the military dorm soldiers thought the Elric brothers liked to do, and Alphonse offered it to Ed.

Ed took the paper and unfolded it with curious intrigue, as if opening a textbook, before his eyes went wide with shock, and he cried out, "Did you draw this!" Alphonse snatched the picture back and gave Ed a harmless, but scolding, smack in the arm. "Then where did you get it!" Ed thrust forward a demanding hand and Alphonse relinquished the crumpled sheet.

"From our neighbors, and your co-workers, Nii-san," Alphonse said, appearing somewhat riled. "I think we need to be more careful with what image we're projecting, and I understand that's rather hypocritical of me to say." Hawkeye was stunned with Alphonse's level-headed communication. _He sounded like the boy from the armor_.

"Those mother fucking, assholes." Ed seethed down to the pencil drawing. "I will fucking kick their asses to the moon!"

"Let me try and repair some of the damage I've caused." Alphonse became depressed. "We can separate," tone growing sad, "I can try," as if he wasn't sure he could succeed, and mustered a tiny smile, and teasing, "I'm going to need everything you've got, Nii-san."

Ed lowered the dirty note in consideration, brow tight. Returning to the process which led them to intense health risk did not appear a safe tactic. He was worried, intensely worried. "That's valiant enough, but last time it really blew up on us." Ed gave the picture an angry shake. "We can't put ourselves in danger for people like this."

"You're not going to do so well in the military if people think you're banging your brother."

Ed's head reeled back, as if hit with water, and squeezing his eyes closed under the weight of a deep grimace, he yelled, "No one thinks that!" Choking a breath, Ed snatched his forehead. "Don't even string reference to you, and me, and banging, in a sentence Alphonse, come on!"

Alphonse pointed to the kindergarten penmanship and imagery. "Some people do think that."

"Well they're going to be dead very soon." Ed hatefully swallowed the paper into his fist.

Alphonse gave this a tired smile of appreciative humor, stepped up to Ed, and hugged him. Ed quickly returned the hug. "Nii-san?" Alphonse asked softly. "I'm making this our new screening phase. We need to optimize this experiment." Alphonse's younger height and body placed his head perfectly at Ed's shoulder. "You're going to have to restrain yourself." Ed tipped his face into the top of Alphonse's hair and tightened his grip with dread. "I know that's hard for you to do." Ed answered this in a mumble too quiet to hear. "I will be okay," Alphonse reassured, giving Ed an exaggerated squeeze that was all show and zero muscle. Ed responded with the slightest bit of noise, what might have been a groan of respite, or final whimper of protest, before Hawkeye realized it was speech, because Alphonse answered with a soft, and committed, "I am not going to die. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

The Major General Kohle, commonly known as the Black Stone Major General, was the first higher-up to arrive in Roy's office looking prickled with disgusted. The man let himself in without knocking, and walking with his hands linked behind his back, ignored their immediate solutes and approached Roy's desk casting short discrete glances to the two people in the room: Fuery and Havoc.

It was a clear signal: _Get Out._

Kohle came to a stop before Mustang's desk and greet a curt, "Mustang."

Roy ended his solute, and turned his gaze to Havoc and Fuery. "Lieutenant, help Sargent Fuery run that stuff down to the storeroom." He gestured to Fuery's ongoing collection of electronic mumbo-jumbo cluttering up the left side of the office with his pen. In silent insult Fuery's mouth dropped open, but with Kohle standing dead center, he was wisely silent and they departed.

"Good Afternoon Major General." Roy flashed a welcoming smile. "What brings you to my humble office?" The Black Stone Major General, like so many of the high wielding Alchemists, was a reasonable man. Unable to guess at where this was leading, Roy opened with pleasantries, and Kohle cut right to the chase.

"All this I've been hearing about that Fullmetal Alchemist…" Kohle took a seat, crossed his legs, and absently bat his hand at the office as if it were stocked with what he'd been hearing.

"What did he break now?" Roy wasn't going to hand anything away.

"From what I hear, his brother's rear," Kohle was frowning with distaste, and Roy set his pen down, and erased his welcoming smile. "I mean, let's be frank with one another. I didn't come here to tell you things you already know, this is a pointless rumor, but this kind of elaborate slander is a bit of a fuck, even for us."

"I have little power over the rumor mill, sir," Roy said candidly. "Fullmetal has always been a target due to his age. I'm sure many of the men think it's funny."

"Well, I don't want our men laughing about this in Central's bars where civilians are listening," Kohle snapped, giving a reproachful jut of his chest. "We're self respecting soldiers, even if some of us don't want to behave like it, for cock-fucking sake, and what about Fullmetal? That boy must be right pissed."

"He is."

Kohle gestured again to the office. "Where is he?"

"In custody." Roy felt the light sweat of anxiety start up. If Ed was discovered missing from his cell there were only two people who could be tossed under the bus: Ed, for disobeying orders with escape, or him, for granting release. "There is an appeal in process, we should be presenting to the community in a few days."

"Make it sooner," Kohle ordered unhappily, before adding a benign, "this looks bad for you." Roy acknowledged the bit of mercy spared him, and nodded. Higher management was hearing the rumors of course, and tolerance wasn't something the Amestrian military was well known for.

"I'll do so of course, sir." It was a mutual goal.

Kohle's rude look remained. He was the face of the collective checking in. Guaranteeing that Mustang wasn't handling things. _He was a young colonel after all._

"Get the appeal in this afternoon," Kohle said, angrily. "Hell, at the latest tomorrow morning. This isn't a kiddie carnival, Mustang. We don't send this kind of message from the military, and frankly, I'm sick of hearing about this little fudgepacker and where he wants to pack it." Roy kept a straight face. "Isn't his brother still in grade school? This incestuous bullshit has got to stop." Roy offered no comment. _It wasn't his team starting the rumor._ "How the hell did this even come about?"

"Fullmetal's brother was recently detained at Central General for suspicious injuries to his body. Since he only resides with Fullmetal, preventive steps by community welfare officials was to suggest trouble at home. No additional investigation has been allowed while we've intercepted with military tribunal. For obvious reasons I've sealed details to the case, so I'm not sure how they're getting out. Fullmetal remains in custody until charges are dismissed."

"For cock-fucking-sake," Kohle scoffed. "You think you would have your men on this round the clock, considering you're wearing this black stain with him."

"My priority is to have this removed as soon as possible. The appeal will be made as soon as it can be. We'll complete everything needed and submit as soon as possible."

Roy felt a swell of hinting dishonesty perk inside him. _Was he pressing as hard as he was pretending he was?_ Wasn't he part of the party thinking Ed might be guilty, at the very least, of ignorance?

Kohle sniffed, unsatisfied, but silent. Gaze straying, he surveyed the stacks of paperwork and empty desks. "What do you think of the proposed finance budget for the upcoming year?" Roy felt blindsided by the topic change. "You know they plan to send eight percent of our budget to Eastern Command?" Kohle offered a scornful grunt. "A dribbling eight percent, but since when have we had problems from sand-swallowing Xingese shaman, we couldn't face? Their kind is dying, and we both expect an internal political struggle for the next three years as they fight over the throne." Kohle laughed. "At least another two before whatever prince in diapers thinks he's figured out enough of daddy's work to wet his dick and ass fuck it all into function."

Roy imagined Ling climbing into the large gold-ridden throne of his father to face his country. Never before had Xingese slander been as offensive as the suggestion of the aroused boy climbing into the chair over his father's dead corpse. Having met the prince it seemed inconceivable.

"My office has strong relations with Xing, I think they will be an Amestrian ally."

"Let's sure as shit hope so." Kohle stood. "I'll look forward to reading the appeal." Kohle turned to go, and Roy was stunned. He didn't recollect the man on the board of affairs, and sputtered out a sound of confusion before masking it with a question.

"I'll make a copy for all five of you," Roy said. To his knowledge there were five on the board.

"I'm going to go downstairs and talk to our suggested ass-assassin, Colonel," Kohle said, glancing back with a look of annoyance. "And for fuck sake, make seven copies." Kohle slammed the door to show the error annoyed him, and Roy snatched the phone on his desk.

He called front reception, but the receptionist was on the line, and he was rerouted to the second unit. He hung up as soon as he heard a soldier's voice, left his office, and leaned into the first break room in their hall and startled Havoc and Fuery.

Havoc was in the middle of a joke, holding two coffee cups to his chest as Styrofoam breasts, and he ripped them down as soon as Roy stepped in.

Roy hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Lieutenant, Black Stone Major General Kohle is going downstairs to see Fullmetal. When he finds the cell empty, make sure you accidentally cross paths with him and apologize for not informing me sooner that Fullmetal was scheduled a shower, so I might have relayed accurate information. Advise him you were on route to inform me."

Havoc tossed the cups aside. "You're blaming Ed's jail break on me!"

"The emphasis is on your delayed update," Roy repeated firmly. _This was key. Second Lieutenants could be poorly timed, Colonels could not._

Havoc gave a quick solute and left in a fast jog.

Fuery was left holding a hot cup of tea and staring at Roy. "Want me to go get Ed sir?" Roy nodded quickly. _Yes, my god that was what he wanted._ This was why he said no more than one hour! "Sir, with all do respect, Ed gets a lot of special treatment with these things." Roy groaned. "I mean, we all know he's not shagging Alphonse, but don't you think we should at least keep him in the cell like he belongs?"

Roy pointed into the hall. "Go," he said. He didn't want to hear anything else. "Hurry up, and get this done."

* * *

Roy wasn't able to tell Hawkeye how absolutely annoyed he was with their unnecessary close call until she phoned him shortly after four in the morning and woke him.

She opened with an apologetic, "I'm sorry I'm waking you," and Roy was struggling to push himself into a sitting position with his anger rekindling.

"I have…" Roy said, clearing his throat. "I have had it," he said angrily. "I have had it with this situation."

"What situation?"

"It was entirely unnecessary. Ed is staying in his cell from now on, and I don't care if Alphonse is in a coma, or on fire, or in a stupor drooling like a faucet. Fullmetal is not being released again."

"Sir, those are terrible analogies."

"I couldn't care less," Roy spat. "Ed's been getting himself into these political messes since the day he arrived, spit out his pacifier, and we put him on payroll. But I have had it up to here with this female coddling, and I'm being forward, and I recognize that, but I feel this is playing a large part in what's going on." Roy gave a heavy breath when he finished. He felt relieved to get this off his chest, and Hawkeye was quiet with consideration. Flopping back into his sheets, Roy scrubbed at his forehead and cleared his throat again. "Why are you calling?"

"I need you to come over."

Roy began a soft furious laugh. _Of course she did._ "Now?"

"I'm glad you sound in high spirits."

"I am not leaving my bed. We have to present Ed's appeal tomorrow, and I'm going to need to think on my feet if we want to get him out of this. You may not have noticed," he said sarcastically, "but Ed's a god damn mess right now, and I can't trust him to speak sensibly."

"I need you to witness what I'm going to say, so it's important," Hawkeye said, and her voice sounded tired, as if she may have been up all night. "Alphonse is convinced there is something wrong with him. He mentioned it to Ed earlier, and since then he's been obsessed. He was researching heavily all afternoon, and I think he might be right. I think there is something wrong with him."

"There is something wrong with both of them," Roy said dryly.

"Sir," she said, adding a bit of urgency to her voice. "Call it a favor." _This was exactly the type of female coddling Roy was talking about._ He felt almost entirely certain Havoc could be face down in his own blood, and if he dared to call Hawkeye in the middle of the night she might shoot her phone. "I know what you are thinking," she said, taking a focused and intimate tone. Suddenly her voice was awake, and the fog of sleep deprivation gave way to undeniable clarity. "But it's important to me I do what I think is right." Roy grunted irritably. "And you can make whatever sex-based comments you want," she said, becoming angry, "but the fact of the matter is, that this boy doesn't have a mother."

"So now you're his mother?"

"Sir," Hawkeye snapped, insignificantly annoyed. She moved, repositioning the phone. "Don't you know what happens to children when you remove their parents?" Annoyance disappeared for cruel empathy, and the sudden intensity of her voice brought this very close to home.

 _It's important to me I do what I think is right._

Wasn't that what he was doing? What he had been doing for years now? What he had always tried to do with the Elrics? Suddenly it was hard to decipher if he was scolding her hypocritically, or if she was taking this to the wrong place. To a personal place, when you weren't supposed to get truly personal.

"Don't you?" she asked again, voice growing softer with disappointed frustration he couldn't answer. _No, Roy did not think he knew what happened._ His silence rekindled her annoyance, and in a rushed tone of self-agitation, she said, "they make stupid glaring errors that are right under their noses," before disconnecting.

Roy lowered the receiver and looked at it. _Stupid glaring errors that are right under their noses?_ Was she suggesting she had figured out something the Elric's had missed? That something Ed, in his often anal-retentive and eccentrically persnickety nature could have missed with Alphonse? Roy gave his receiver a look that twisted his expression with baffled disbelief. He knew she was good, but she wasn't a doctor.

Was she that good?

 _Was she that freaking good!_

Roy tossed the receiver aside and stood up. In a half asleep stupor he staggered across his room for his pants and car keys.

* * *

Hawkeye answered the Elric door in blue cotton pajama pants and a white tank top. Her hair was up in a lazy pony tail, and she was holding her pistol. Playfully her brow was low with annoyance, but her gaze said she was teasing.

"Cute," Roy said, stepping in and lifting his hands from his pockets. He'd shrugged a light jacket over the comfortable long sleeve shirt he slept in, and thrown on a pair of jeans before stepping into sandals. This early in the season, and so late at night, his toes were like ice, but it was easier than the burden of dressing with socks and tying anything with laces.

The Elric apartment was dark, and looked peacefully fast asleep. The only light came from the soft bulbs over the kitchen sink, and the stove's gas flame beneath a tea kettle.

Roy gave Hawkeye a look of disagreement when the apartment presented a safe inviting presence. "Is the black hole you want me to see in the other room?" he asked. "Or perhaps Alphonse scribbles law breaking arrays in his sleep, and you're bringing me to bear witness?" Hawkeye cocked her gun, and Roy could tell by the sound it was empty. He started laughing with exhaustion, and she set it on the counter and returned to the stool she had been occupying.

"It occurred to me in my sleep. I woke right up," she said sitting down.

"What did?"

Hawkeye pointed to the clock. "Alphonse wakes up very early."

Roy was disgusted with this. "Well, I don't."

"When he wakes up he's a completely different person," Hawkeye said, lowering her voice to something serious. "So much so, I need a witness."

Roy found this statement disagreeable, as if Alphonse were dangerous. He envisioned the boy tromping forward, eyes rolled back, and blue alchemy sparks zapping from either palm as he cracked vicious transmutations in a mind-drooling fog.

Hawkeye did not look frightened, or even on guard, she looked tired. _The way Ed was tired._ As if Alphonse was a leach sucking something inside of them out.

"I've started keeping a journal," Hawkeye said. Before her seat was a small tea cup and slender leather journal. She laid her palm over its closed front.

Roy groaned, "My god." Disparity was heavy in his tone, and Hawkeye heard him loud and clear: _my god, have we lost our minds? Have we lost our focus?_ but she moved on.

"At first it just seemed…mood swings." Roy tipped his head back and gave a chest deflating sigh. Her tone said she was going to explain this, and he was required to listen. _That was why he was called._

"Why couldn't you have told me this over the phone," he asked, miserably defeated by his own obedience.

Hawkeye ignored this. "I decided to write down what I remembered in as much detail as I could by hour. Then I looked at what I had recorded as well as what Ed and Al were recording."

"Oh god, you went through their notes?" _Ed might never let this go._

"When I compared their logs to my observations, there were disturbing similarities." Roy lifted his head with a bit of interest. "You can literally catalog Alphonse changing throughout the day." She gave her journal a pat before arranging her pistol next to her tea cup and taking a sip.

Roy was analytically silent, contemplating her suggestion. The idea of Alphonse-evolution seemed flawed. Hypothetically suggested, why hadn't Ed detected it? Ed was the obstacle to any Alphonse-focused hypothesis because there was nothing Alphonse was doing that Ed wasn't somehow involved in. Ed's legal charges were proof of this.

Ed's obsessive, highly-trained and skilled comprehension of Alphonse, would not allow for something like this to go uncharted. It went beyond Alphonse as an experimental building block, alchemic result, and now resurrected family member. It went to a place that made it impossible simply because Ed was that devoted, simply that crazy, simply that Ed.

It was impractical that something could be missed. That something, not small, and not large, but absolutely monumental, would slip by unnoticed.

Roy felt he was erring on the side of caution when he immediately placed all of his eggs in Ed's scientific basket. If the kid could generate his half dead mother at the age of twelve, than this walking, breathing, functioning Alphonse, who housed the boy's armor soul via transmutation, just six years later, meant that caution was aptitude, and aptitude was something Ed liked to dominate. Taboo or no taboo.

"How could he have missed it? Roy asked. He was not convinced that Ed could miss it, and that Hawkeye could catch it, and it had nothing to do with either of their intelligence levels. It simply had to do with Ed's logic-bending loyalty to Alphonse.

"How did he miss it," Hawkeye corrected. She was convinced, comfortably convinced, and this raged in Roy's mind as the idea he found impossible, and Hawkeye's perception, came to battle.

"He missed it because it was right in front of his face," Hawkeye said, with a tone that suggested she was repeating herself. "He missed it, because he lost his mother when he was a little boy and so did Alphonse." Roy didn't see how these things were related, and it was apparent in his expression. "Which means," Hawkeye said, speaking slowly to emphasize obvious common knowledge, "they were both denied the education of life routines by an overseeing adult. He hasn't figured it out, because it's so simple." Roy's look of skeptical disagreement didn't budge, and Hawkeye sat her tea cup down with a sigh of her own. "Look, you remember shortly after the Tucker case, when Ed was moved into the dorms and he started…you know," she gave a quick shrug, feeling it was rude to say, "smelling?"

"Yes." Roy did remember this.

"And you ordered him to shower every night?"

"Yes." Roy had done this upon Hawkeye's instruction.

"When Ed lost the Tucker estate, and let's not go into what type of home it was, let's just speak on the construct of a home, he lost home routines. He lost the organization and stability that normal children have at home because there are people checking up on them. Without that, he was distracted, and found personal hygiene disinteresting."

Roy remembered how annoyed he was with this, and how confused Ed looked being called out on it. All he had asked was, how often do you shower? Ed's look of shock meant no answer was needed. Roy immediately took Hawkeye's advice and told Ed he was required to shower every day.

"It's nothing against, Ed," Hawkeye said, giving a soft laugh. "He was a little boy, and children at that age don't understand the importance, or even the desire, for hygiene routines. There was other stuff he wanted to do, so he did that instead."

Roy took a seat at the counter and propped his head in his hand. He was exhausted, but so far she was making sense. "Do I need to order Alphonse to shower every night?" he teased.

"Ed is right, that Alphonse is healing, and recovering slowly, and I think that's why he missed what's complicating things and making it so hard to track." Roy looked at Hawkeye's journal with curiosity. What exactly did it look like inside? Was it a string of dates and times? _2PM Alphonse has oatmeal. 3PM Alphonse takes a nap._ Was this the science they devoted themselves to now?

"Tell me," Roy said. He didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted the golden nugget.

Hawkeye pressed a finger to her lips, and tried to hide a short laugh. "Just wait," she said. "You need to witness it." She gave the air between them a quick tap with her finger. "After you do, I'll tell you how you almost figured it out for yourself, because you were right. Autistic is a word you can use to describe him sometimes, but that's not his fault."

Roy waited. The tea kettle whistled, and Hawkeye made them each a fresh cup. She placed her old mug in the sink and resumed her stool watching the clock. At five in the morning Alphonse woke up, and left his bedroom in a slow sleepy walk to the bathroom. He was trying to be considerate of Hawkeye and sneak, this much could be understood by his jerked tip-toed movements, but he misjudged the door and slammed it open. When he entered the bathroom, he walked partially into the doorway, and almost fell over before stabilizing himself with several thudding steps and flaps of his arms. Inside, they watched him struggle to place toothpaste on his toothbrush with hands that could be still, and depth perception that seemed to have abandoned him.

"He looks like he has Parkinson's," Roy whispered, staring in shock. "Is he always this…" and what was the word for this? "…disrupted?"

"When I tell you what this is all about, you're not going to believe me."

Roy took her words at face value, and muttered a sour, "Great."

"We'll let him finish his tasks. He'll realize we're up soon enough. Then I just want you to talk to him a bit, open conversation so you can see evidence of what I'm going to say. He's a complete wreck in the morning, but it gets better as the day goes on."

It took Alphonse over half an hour to find them. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and went back to his bedroom shivering. When he reemerged it was clear great effort was being used to keep him walking. He swayed like a drunk, and groped continuously to the wall, and passing furniture for support. Entirely consumed, it wasn't until he arrived at the kitchen counter that he noticed them with a fast, "Oh." Expression dressed with confusion, before a polite smile broke, and he added, "Good morning, Colonel, I didn't know you were here." Alphonse approached shivering, and climbed into a stool looking disoriented. "Was there something we needed to get for you? Nii-san has his appeal tomorrow, right?"

Roy nodded. In Ed's case, the type of appeal meant it would be reviewed the day after submission, and as long as today went as scheduled, and it needed to, this would be true. "Yes." _So far Alphonse sounded normal._

"How long will it last?" Alphonse asked. He set his elbows on the counter, and propped his head in his hands as if it were too heavy to hold. Instinctively, his right began massaging his temple like one suffering a deep migraine.

"Not long. Maximum of an hour is standard. You can observe if you would like."

Alphonse nodded. He was ghostly pale, and continued a steady jittering. "I would like to," he muttered. "I want to see what the military has to say about all this, and what Nii-san has to say." Roy exchanged glances with Hawkeye. This bed-head Alphonse was not worth driving over for, and he let Hawkeye see this in his face.

 _What the hell,_ his expression said, looking angry he was tricked. _What the hell is this crap._

Hawkeye narrowed her gaze with a bit of irritation and reluctance, before propelling them.

"Alphonse, how do you feel?" Hawkeye asked. Her question was innocent, but Roy could hear her pulling the pin out of a grenade.

"My head is a mess, and I'm dizzy, and I'm freezing," Alphonse said, laundry listing his ailments with a tone of disgusted exhaustion. "But I'm better, I guess. My head is not as bad as it's been, although right now I can't feel some parts of me well. Nii-san, thinks this is circulatory in nature…what a bunch of shit."

Roy felt the normality of their conversation stop with Alphonse's profanity. He had never heard a single obscenity drop from Alphonse's mouth despite Ed's often ingenious method of stringing curses into every clause of his sentence structure.

"That's good," Hawkeye said, passively ghosting over the land mind Roy felt they had stepped onto. "How do you feel about Ed's appeal approaching?" Her tone was expectant, as if she knew the answer. Like she was shinning a flashlight into a dark space she wanted Roy to investigate.

 _There it is,_ she was saying, _look at that._

"I'm glad it's coming. It's mercilessly unfair Nii-san is being detained while not proven guilty, and I want this issue closed. Colonel, some of our neighbors are rather upset about these charges," Alphonse said, blinking slowly as if he'd been hit over the head. "They want us to move out."

"Ignore the rumor mill," Roy said firmly, lifting his tea cup and taking a sip. _That was his best advice._

Alphonse was annoyed with this lackluster solution, and angrily complained, "The rumor mill handcrafts crude drawings of us fucking and pushes it under our door." Roy began choking on his tea. He'd never heard Alphonse use the F-Word, even though Ed married it. "As if that wasn't insulting enough, they draw my penis the width of a breadstick" Alphonse twisted his expression with loathing. "It's inconsiderate, but I love how no one asks me what I think. If everyone is so concerned about what Nii-san's been doing, how come no one is asking me what he's been doing?"

Roy swallowed and sputtered a cough while lifting his hand to stop the conversation. "Alphonse, you are to cease language like this immediately," he snapped.

Alphonse was unimpressed, and with a tired expression of disregard, as close to an expression Ed would have sneered up Roy had ever seen, he said, "Yes sir," in a tone of flat disobedience.

Roy gave Hawkeye a fast and fleeting glance, but she had her right eyebrow posed upward, as if saying, _and there you have it. What do you think about that?_ Roy caught this thought in a nanosecond, while still giving Alphonse his full attention. He felt blindsided with Alphonse's change in language, and angry with the boy's arrogant presumption they would tolerate it. He responded exactly as he had to Ed's younger self, and broke into lecture. "You will not use profanity in front of the First Lieutenant, and you will remain polite in vocabulary when speaking." Alphonse looked like a seasick traveler, and stared at Roy in silent receivership with nothing hinting at acceptance. "You had plenty of opportunity to describe what Ed has been doing in the hospital, and your very detailed descriptions are why we're all here."

"I'm a minor," Alphonse said angrily. "I can't be expected to accurately relay information having just returned to my flesh body. Couldn't I have received some representation?" Alphonse glanced between them to keep Hawkeye included as he spoke. "If everyone was so concerned, I needed counsel. I keep telling people I'm having trouble, I should have been cross examined by the military if they were so worried! Why didn't a responsible party step in!"

Roy grabbed his face with anger. _Of course, as always, the Elrics were annoyed because life was not conveniently accommodating their massive transgressions._

"How long?" Roy asked Hawkeye, unwilling to deal with this for another moment. When Ed was thirteen they would talk in circles with Ed's bigot toddler self unable to concede concepts he did not like. _How long did insane Alphonse last?_

"Several hours, until mid morning," Hawkeye said, sounding suddenly uneasy she was validated. This wasn't exactly something you wanted to be right about. Roy was shocked. _How was Ed not more concerned with this type of bold change!_ "That means Ed's exposure is limited to the hour he has with Alphonse before he leaves for work." Hawkeye was following Roy's thought process. "And even if Ed is disturbed by this, what is Alphonse really doing?" she gestured to Alphonse who was sitting calmly, and listening to them. The question made it clear: _nothing, Alphonse was doing nothing._ He looked mildly annoyed he was the topic of conversation while present, but as a young child, was used to this sometimes being the case.

"He looks like a corpse, and sounds idiotic," Roy said, turning a look of concern to Alphonse. "Alphonse, you sound idiotic."

"I'm not sure why," Alphonse snapped angrily. "I'm only voicing fact supported statements."

"Until otherwise ordered Alphonse, I want you to limit your morning conversation with everyone," Roy ordered. Alphonse scoffed indignantly. "I have no patience for crude topics discussed in front of the First Lieutenant when she is here out of goodwill, and on her military time," Roy said firmly, scolding Alphonse with a tone Ed only received when he deliberately disobeyed an order. It was nothing to sneeze at, and Alphonse sat up a bit straighter looking stung. Without the counter to lean on his trembling frame appeared more dramatic. "Do you understand that, Alphonse?" Roy asked angrily.

"Yes," Alphonse whispered. "I'm not trying to be offensive."

Hawkeye reached to Alphonse and gently took one of his hands. "The Colonel is concerned with how your case is going to go, Alphonse. He is looking out for you." She pulled Alphonse's hand onto the counter with hers and turned it over so his was on top. "This is important," she said softly, speaking to Alphonse before turning her gaze to Roy. "You see," she traced a finger over Alphonse's finger tips, and they were dusted a light sapphire. "They are blue."

Roy looked at Alphonse's hand in astonishment.

"Do you know why?" Hawkeye asked softly, lifting her gaze to Roy's. He met it immediately. _No, no he didn't know why. He didn't know why Alphonse would wake up like a basket-case and become better throughout the day. He didn't know why the boy's fingers were blue._

As soon as Hawkeye pointed out his fingers, Alphonse took his hand back and rubbed them together fiercely before resting a palm on his forehead as if to take his temperature.

"Will you excuse me, Colonel?" Alphonse said, completely uprooted from the conversation. He looked to Hawkeye to explain, but she already understood. She shook her head quickly and pointed into the apartment.

"Go ahead, I'll make you a safe breakfast."

Alphonse left and Roy watched the boy stagger his way to the bathroom.

"All right," Roy said softly. He watched Alphonse fumble with the doorknob as if his hand were rubber and owned no joint strength. "I'm all ears," Roy admitted. "Tell me what you know." _What Ed had missed._

"You're not going to agree with me," Hawkeye said, returning to a hesitant tone of worry. It was laced with dread he would not support her. She was going to share a secret she was certain would bring teasing.

"I think I will."

Roy locked his gaze with hers, but she escaped to studying her tea cup. In the early morning hours she looked sleepy, but with her hair pulled up, and her bangs slipping down and petting her cheek, there was something honestly beautiful about her. "I didn't drive over here for a crack-of-dawn chuckle," he teased.

Hawkeye broke a quick, but weak smile, and staring into her cup, said, "I think he's suffering hypothermia."

Roy was shocked. Before she spoke he was willing to bet he would agree with her statement. He would have committed ninety to ninety-five percent in expectation she would enlighten him, and he would silently revere her. Instead, he felt shocked with how incredibly inaccurate he believed this to be. It was simply amateur. There was no way Alphonse was hypothermic.

Roy leaned forward in shock. "What?"

Hawkeye changed her tone to one of complete confidence. Looking up, she repeated, "He has hypothermia." She was absolutely convinced. "And Ed missed it," she whispered, as if her exposure of this fact was sin. Not that well-cared-for, well-supervised Alphonse, who was living in a heated environment with every modern comfort available to him, was actually internally in the Arctic. It was that Ed had failed to make this elaborately preposterous conclusion.

"He's not hypothermic," Roy said, refuting the idea. He shook his head kindly. He wasn't trying to shoot her down, but he didn't want any more effort wasted so pointlessly. "He's in a heated apartment," Roy said softly, he was trying to correct her discretely, and as politely as he could. "We're sitting here in casual clothing, and you're in a tank top. It would be impossible."

Hawkeye listened, but her expression said she was doing so only to be polite. "I know how it sounds," she said, mildly annoyed. "And that's why I wanted you to see him like this. He's not himself in the morning because he can't keep himself warm, Roy. Alphonse is suffering as if he's outside in the cold, and that is taxing every other part of him." Her voice became rushed as she tried to convince him. "He doesn't think my theory is too far fetched."

"Are you supporting your hypothesis on why he is insane with his insane testimony?" Roy asked with disbelief. "You don't need to be desperate."

She took this with insult. "You don't think I know how it sounds," Hawkeye said, disappointed and angry. "I am a sniper, I don't for a minute forget that I'm way out of my league." Her hand shot out indicating the bathroom where Alphonse was showering. "I know that, sir. I know I am. But I'm telling you, as clearly as I can, that I think there is something wrong with him, and I think this is it. It's connected to his temperature, I'm sure of it. He's too cold too often. He's hypothermic, and it's making his activity too erratic to understand. As his body temperature changes, he's changing with it, so it's hard to notice. A raise in temperature would look like what was bothering him was passing, or healing, but a drop causes it to come back. Ed missed it because he doesn't have good bedside manner, and you know that. This one flaw is messing up Alphonse's entire recovery, and it has gone entirely eluded because it's so simple."

Roy stood up. "I have to go home and go to bed," he said kindly. He couldn't argue about this, and he didn't think that either of them were in the right place to do so. "I came and saw, now I have to go."

Hawkeye silenced. She recognized that she was tired, and he was tired, and that her grenade had just gone off. She turned her eyes back to her tea cup and pistol with a heavy sigh. "You'll think about what I said though, won't you?" she asked.

Roy gave a nod and walked to the door. He grasped the handle and paused to look back at her. In a way he didn't understand, he felt he was leaving her, but he wasn't ready to comfortably agree. He could tell by her anxious expression, and the sad way she sat alone at the counter, she had the best intentions, and she feared for Alphonse's well being. "He's continuing to bruise himself, and I need support in order to investigate this," Hawkeye said. She slid her hand to her gun and ran her finger down the barrel for comfort. "I need your support," she said, tone soft. "Ed has been looking at the problem the wrong way, and he is going to need someone he truly respects to break this to him."

Roy heard this loud and clear. _She wanted him to tell Ed._ In jest Roy asked, "Who says he respects me?"

"Please be serious, Colonel." Hawkeye looked defeated with her own worry.

Roy opened the door. He was about to step out, with the idea of sitting Ed down and saying, _hey you know all that best effort you've been giving? Well you're doing it wrong,_ when his mind let her suggestion in. It fell to the blank canvas of his intellect for analysis, and he immediately began picking it apart. HHe stopped exiting and looked back to her.

"Entertaining this theory, what about everything else?" he asked, half in the hallway. "What about the nose bleeds, and the vision distortion, and his depth perception, and his inability to remember normal life routines, and every other problem Ed says he's having? His skin and all that?" Hawkeye pressed her lips together looking uncertain. She wasn't a doctor. Her gaze repeated what she had confessed: that she was frightfully out of her element, but needed someone to look at what she was bringing to the table. _She wanted him to look at it. She was handing it off for the next step._ "Okay," Roy said, giving a single surrendering nod. "Fine." He stepped out, but flashed her a reassuring smile. "I will think on this. Get some sleep. I need you in the office today so you can help me smooth things over if Ed goes ballistic after his evaluation." Roy glanced toward the bathroom door and the sound of the running water with Hawkeye frowning skeptically. He was being excessive in an attempt at humor, and she knew it, but she wasn't impressed. "And don't bring Rain Man until he calms down."

Roy's joke caused Hawkeye's eyes to widened with surprise, but Roy left and shut the door chuckling. He did not want to think about throwing Ed's tank-draining effort back in his face anymore than he wanted to think of them overlooking something this simple for so long. If she was right, this would be the turning point. Alphonse's dependency and vulnerability was running Ed into the ground, and what little of Ed's pride and self image was still standing, Ed had taken a bat to after Amestris suggested, in a cruel and determined way, that he was the lowest fuck up there was.

If Ed's evaluation and appeal went well, and they could erase these charges and fix the younger Elric for good, then there was a chance that Ed could begin erasing that small dark light of self-disgust Roy had begun to notice in Ed's face.

* * *

Thank you, thank you! Please review – I need them.

Board of Squares was a tremendous challenge to write, so I'd love to hear what you think. Having so many characters operating living daily under stress levels like this, just sucks it out of you.

That said, I apologize in advance, but my next chapter won't be up until 03/24/17. Prior to, I'm just not sure I can secure connectivity and I hate making commitments I can't keep. Bear with me…please? : )

Chapter Eight: _Debt,_ will be posted 03/24/17. (03/24/17 Note - A thousand pardons! My flight was cancelled and I just arrived in the wee hours of the morning. I will get this chapter up tomorrow, Saturday 03/25/17 - stupid airlines).

See you then.


	9. Debt

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Eight  
 _Debt_

\- mirage–

There were many days that Roy felt his sizeable office conspired chaos. The becoming estate before him, although sensibly assigned office furnishings, the perimeter for an unending asylum he'd never expected.

They were backlogged. Behind in work productivity for everything Central expected, because Central did not provide schedule for personal disasters, and they were in the habit of hiding their ever so frequent occurrences.

Edward's legal charges were only the latest in the unending cycle of looping obstacles, and it was becoming harder to keep Ed locked in his cell when they needed administrative assistance. Harder, now that they'd come to collectively agree the charges were inaccurate. Harder, as things felt to drag on. The automail mandated movement for good health. Exercise and stretching of the limbs a holding cell could not provide, and Roy had authorized a modest schedule to provide this every few hours, which he punctuated with written testimony to continue diligent incarceration.

"Make it look realistic," he said. "We lose credibility if it appears we're not taking this serious." He handed Falman the task, ordered Ed be cuffed, and that Falman's weapon be unholstered with the safety off.

Falman had been bemused. "Sir, no alchemist in the midst of escape would give you time to shoot."

There seemed no complaints or concerns with Ed's new periodic release from his cell until the third release, in which Roy received a call from Major General Kohle, who from the sixth floor had a perfect view of the outdoor courtyard where a restraint-free Edward was sitting with an unarmed Falman eating and chatting with the soldiers running training exercises.

The conversation started with, "If you want this to look at all convincing, Mustang," and ended with, "for cock-fucking-sake."

Pleasantly the conversation did not include concerns Ed was loose in Central Command, and grinning, Roy allocated a fat stack of paperwork to their spare desk, and summoned his youngest alchemist, and lackluster guard, before his desk.

His conversation started with, "When I give an order," and ended with, "your paperwork is not going to do itself, Fullmetal."

Half past noon the office was filled with the sound of scratching pens. Collaboratively they were scrambling, and the industrious work gave way to light chatter as soon as piles dropped the slightest inch, and success seemed within reach.

Havoc cut the silence.

"Hey Ed." He was working on schematics for troop placement, often had to reference blueprints, and had taken to placing them across from Ed's workstation where, as needed, he would wordless push Ed's current work aside, and gesture the unfolded corners be held. Alchemy blueprints were incredibly complicated, and the paper utilized incredibly thin. Pulling it taunt with weights to utilize the grids made tears a concern, and it was better to seek a second person to manage the paper while you managed the data.

"What."

Havoc, Ed, and a squirrely map of paper managed stark professionalism for only twenty minutes.

"You know some of the empties downstairs have taken to calling you an ass-gremlin."

 _Havoc cut the silence with tact._

Ed gave a heavy sigh, expression falling dull with tolerant misery. "What assholes." Holding the open blueprint obediently, he stood at Havoc's side watching him move about the parchment.

"I shut it down when if I'm there, but..." Havoc spoke with his pencil in his mouth, bobbing gently.

"This is so, blown out of proportion. I can't believe people are making such a, I mean," Ed huffed, "the fuckers should just go fuck themselves."

"Yeah, well. I guess some of them are pretty pissed. Apparently, there's some confusion as to whether Alphonse is still, you know, wearing his armor, and all that."

"What? That's disgusting," Ed snapped. "It doesn't make any sense at all."

Hawkeye interrupted with a sharp, "Havoc," and without looking up from her work, finished with a soft, "this isn't appropriate for the office."

Havoc stopped working and defended himself with a non-confrontational, "I'd want to know what people were saying if it were me, Lieutenant."

"Just stop." Her pen kept moving.

"You've been riding me since you got back, Hawkeye," Havoc complained, correcting his hunched posture over his workspace. "All cause I didn't crunch some of the Arsenal numbers, and don't think I haven't noticed." Hawkeye's pen stopped, blindsided with the new topic. "You're taking it out on me and not getting me any cute little coffees." Hawkeye looked up with a speechless baffled expression. "I saw Marissa down at reception, and you bought her a cute little coffee."

Slowly, and with a tone of exasperated disbelief, Hawkeye said, "Marissa got me coffee yesterday." She opened her palms in a peaceful gesture _._ "I was simply repaying the favor."

"Where are you guys getting it?" Ed asked. "Is it from that nice place two blocks down on the corner? You know they sell bags of coffee beans in chocolate. They're amazing."

The main office phone began ringing and Fuery reached for it, arm trailing wires from a large metal radio and the pile of communication equipment he was currently addressing. Wearing a pair of earphones about his neck, and partially buried in dismembered electronic pieces, he was working to improve what he called the transmitter something-or-other and carbon-whatnots for reception.

Politely, they were abiding the mess.

"Colonel Roy Mustang's Office." Fuery brought the phone to his ear, and slipped his pen into his mouth.

Hawkeye answered Ed's question. "No, from the little place on Main with the big muffins."

"Oh, really? I haven't tried that place."

"It's good, but the line can get long in the morning."

"I'll check it out, and you need to try the chocolate coffee beans if you haven't. They look a little questionable when you first see them, but they're flipping amazing."

"I'm not going to chew coffee beans, Ed."

"Ed, call for you," Fuery said, extending the phone without a glance.

Ed turned to Fuery with his arms tethered to Havoc's blueprints, and looked at the man like he were stupid. "I can't take calls now, I'm in my cell."

Today was the day the shrink, as they were calling her, was supposed to arrive, and Ed looked at the extended phone with worried distrust. As if she might be on the line ready to talk, when he wasn't so sure he was ready for her to appear.

Havoc was not distracted by the other conversations in the room, and shoulders sagged with social betrayal, kept his injured glare rooted on Hawkeye, with an arguing, "Marissa says you get her coffee every morning."

Hawkeye's gaze returned to the wounded pout of Havoc's strong baby blues and began a soft kind hearted laugh. "Marissa is pulling your leg."

"Ed, call for you," Fuery repeated, giving the extended receiver an impatient wiggle.

"I can't take calls, I am locked up right now!" Ed released Havoc's blueprint and it snapped into a tight roll swallowing Havoc's notes. Havoc accepted this with a small curse, and Ed left to Fuery's wire wrapped desk, demanding a rude, "Who is it?"

"I didn't ask."

Ed snatched the phone. "Hello?"

Ed listened in silence for a few minutes while Havoc shared with Hawkeye that he had also eaten chocolate covered coffee beans and found them surprisingly good. He said the chocolate cancelled out what would have otherwise been a strong and possibly bitter taste.

Hawkeye was against eating coffee beans, and was repeating herself when Ed told the caller, in a muffled voice, that he was Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc taking a message for Edward Elric, because Edward Elric was not available. When the caller asked for him to speak up, Ed elaborated that he could not, as he was an ill-advised chain smoker, and Havoc rushed Ed's side when Ed released a bout of hacking and coughing.

It was disruptive, and Fuery regretted answering the phone. Chastised a quick, "Hey, you want to watch it guys?" With Havoc trying to take the phone, Ed elbowing Havoc aside, and both of them carelessly knocking things about. "This stuff is delicate!" No one seemed to believe him, and from across the room Roy watched Fuery mildly zap himself with electricity and Hawkeye leave her desk in his aid.

"Can we not act like adults?" It was all he had to say.

"What am I doing?" Havoc spat. "I'm not doing anything!"

The comfortable atmosphere of the office fractured when an unknown woman knocked and stepped in. It was unexpected. They all looked, and because there was no war, and nothing was on fire, it was days and times like this that their skill and precision could be so overshadowed, their female visitor looked startled.

Wearing a flattering navy suit, and carrying a thin black briefcase, she looked, momentarily, as if she had stepped into the wrong room. Might apologize and retreat, before her gaze found Hawkeye, and she spoke a quick and friendly, "Riza."

Hawkeye broke a bright smile. "Carol." Standing at Fuery's side, palms extended as Fuery loaded them with burnt screws, she attempted to beckon the woman in. "Come on in, let me introduce you." Hawkeye carefully set her hands down on top of Havoc's blueprints and emptied them with Fuery looking outraged. "This is my Unit, Second Lieutenant, Jean Havoc; Sergeant Major, Kain Fuery; and the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric."

Carol entered, shutting the door behind her, and extending her hand. "Carol Sanders. Wonderful to be meeting you all." She shook hands. "Riza and I have known each other for a long time, and I've heard so many good things."

Roy watched things unfold from his desk. The team, once again professional and appropriate. With immediate introductions satisfied Hawkeye led Ms. Sanders over quickly, and Roy watched her walk. She had a slender build, and a cute face. He was pleased she was modestly appealing, but one glance at Ed revealed quite the opposite.

For Ed, her enjoyable face made things more uncomfortable, and he had been hoping for someone old, balding, or hideously fat.

"This is my commanding officer, Colonel Roy Mustang," Hawkeye said, stopping at Roy's desk with a polite nod.

Roy stood and shook Carol's hand from across the top. "It's a pleasure, and we sincerely appreciate you making the trip." He flashed one of his suave grins. "Where can we set you up?"

* * *

Central Command's third floor board rooms were long conference rooms with grand rectangular meeting tables and well-furnished lavish credenzas of supplies, maps, and surface space for food and water. Roy escorted both Ms. Sanders and Edward to the sixth directly after introductions.

Inside the office Ms. Sanders was very sociable. She greeted them warmly, and made bubbly small talk with Hawkeye. The walk to the elevator with Ed was dead silent, and Roy could feel the tension building. Ms. Sanders seemed to feel it as well and when they stepped into the elevator she forced an attempt to break it.

"It's wonderful to be down here in the warmer climate," she said, glancing between Roy and Ed with a smile. "My hair gets so dry and frizzy up there."

Roy tried as well. "I've heard Drachma gets snowfall in twenty to forty inches a storm this time of year, is that true?"

"For several months," Carol confirmed.

"That must be brutal on transportation."

"It is, everything is delayed or shuts down. The mail is a snail's pace."

Roy gestured to Ed who was watching them with a straight expression and rigid stiffness in his shoulders. "Ed's been up to Briggs before, where as I've never seen it. So I can only imagine the snow fall."

"Really," Carol said, giving Ed a smile. "How long were you in Briggs?"

"Less than a week."

"At the fort?"

Ed gave a nod and turned his gaze to the floor numbers, waiting for theirs to illuminate.

Roy gestured them to the right and took them down a long window lined hall.

"This is our Assembly Hall," Roy advised. The wing was well appointed with impressive trim and tasteful pieces so diplomats, generals, and entertained international visitors were given a welcoming impression. "We have several board rooms up on this floor." The hall was silent, and Carol's heels were echoing. "This wing should be suitable, but please let me know if there is anything else you need." Mid hall, Roy opened a door on his right and the room was identical to the others. Long table, available maps, chairs.

"Thank you, I'm sure this will be perfect," Carol said, entering.

"I'll send up some water," Roy said, sharing a glance with Ed as he followed her in. Then he shut the door and signed heavily. _There. That wasn't so hard._

He began the walk back to the elevator. Proactively he decided to send up lunch as well. He wanted nothing to disrupt such a vital part of the appeal. It was clear Ed was a bit nervous, and a fine execution would avoid anything being unnecessarily drawn out.

Half way to the elevators Roy heard a door open and close behind him and looked back with confusion. He'd specifically confirmed no other board rooms were booked in order to maximize their privacy, and tripped to a halt, turning around in astonishment, when standing in the hall, back against the conference room door as if to seal Carol inside, was Ed.

Ed looked up from his feet with Roy's movement, and when their gaze locked a look of shock seized Ed's face, and he flinched. Jerking as the impulse to duck and hide, when he was unwilling to duck and hide flew through him, until he went still. Staring back with wide apprehensive eyes.

Roy tossed an arm out and gestured to the conference room, whispering, "What are you…" before silencing. He was out of ear shot, and returned to Ed's side in a quick walk, demanding a whispered, "What are you doing?"

Ed's eyebrows raised with alarm, looking uncomfortable, but he kept silent.

"Ed." Roy stepped closer. "What are you doing? Get back in there." Ed's bottom lip quivered as if he meant to speak, and speechless was a side of Edward Elric Roy had never seen. Carefully, and using a low and serious tone he reserved for anger, Roy repeated a slow, "I said, what are you doing, Fullmetal," and Ed answered.

"I need a minute." Ed's voice was squeaky, and he was wedged into the doorframe and gripping the fine woodwork.

"You do not," Roy said firmly. He reached for the door handle, but Ed side-stepped and sheltered it with his torso.

"I need a minute!" Ed repeated, pushing Roy's hand away. "I can't go in there right now. I need to get my head straight! I need to get my head together. I can't think! I need a minute."

"What the hell for?" Roy asked, gesturing angrily to the door before looking up and down the hall to verify they were alone.

Ed's breathing was quick with anxiety. He tipped his head down and tightened his grip, before whispering, "She's going to know I messed up." Ed visibly winced. "I didn't have enough time to think up good answers to what questions she might have. I needed more time to do research. I needed to talk to other psychiatrists to see what they normally do!" Roy was stunned. "But I was stuck in that cell, and now I am screwed!" Ed lifted a desperate gaze to Roy. "What am I going to do if she doesn't like my answers? What if she thinks I really am…" Ed trailed off, as if he couldn't pick the right word before managing a confused and almost questioning sounding, "…suck?"

Roy hent Ed's left arm in a tight grip, and pulled him off the door and to the side. He brought them together as if the hallway were crowded, to speak privately, and said, "If you get yourself all worked up like this, you won't be able to focus Ed. Now relax."

"I could do anything else," Ed whispered, voice still frantic. "I could transmute anything she asked for, I could probably hit almost any target she named, I can produce—produce almost any form of science but…" Ed gave his head a quick shake. "I can't…talk to people." Roy was flabbergasted. He didn't think this was true. Ed did plenty of talking to people. Ed was social, naturally kind, and guided by a solid moral compass. "I can't…relate to…I don't have experience with, the kind of stuff she's looking for."

"Ed, you don't know what she's looking for."

"No, I do know what she's looking for," Ed said angrily. "She's looking to know what, in my past, makes me capable of taking care of another person." Ed lifted his automail hand and gave Roy's chest a tiny jab with his metal finger. "When the only thing in my past is abandonment and bloodshed, and do you know what that means?" Ed sounded bitter with disgust. "It means I shouldn't even be able to take care of myself. That I am an unstable person, denied wholesome variables that teach me empathy and insight to the human condition." Ed lowered his finger. "She's going to see that, Roy. She's going to know that about me." Ed took a shaky breath. "She's going to realize that Alphonse should be with someone better."

And that was it.

Roy felt a bomb detonate between them, and Ed stepped back quickly, looking as if he'd just been slugged.

Roy's mouth went a little dry, and he realized he also wanted to step back, step away, and think about what Ed was saying, but they had a deadline and he couldn't. He couldn't, as much as Ed seemed to need a moment to digest the unexpected confession, he couldn't allow them to fall behind.

"Do you think that's true?" Roy asked, tone curious and indiscriminate. Ed didn't look as if he knew what he thought. His expression was frazzled with toxic indecision, and a mounting need to flee. "Don't you think Alphonse has the right to decide who he deems acceptable as family in his life?" he asked, "Do you think you're the only one who gets to make that decision?"

Ed turned away and ran a hand up his forehead and into his bangs. He didn't know what he thought, only that he felt like the walls were closing in and there wasn't going to be enough room to breathe let alone move.

"If you let something as stupid as second-guessing indecision pollute all the effort you've made, you really could do something stupid," Roy said, going firm with disbelieving anger. His tone was a clear definitive warning. "You really might be in this hall telling me you think you're a bad brother and some stranger might be better family to Alphonse than you are."

Ed buckled physically. He sagged forward with his shoulders going heavy and his head drooped in depression. Roy had never seen Ed look so lost, and he was surprised with his own desire to deck Ed in the face. _Were we really going to cower so completely we tried to run from this?_

"Ed?" Roy waited for Ed to return from his saturating gloom the way the boy always did, but Ed didn't move. "Ed, you don't have time to do this now." It was the truth. "We can lament over our transgressions to mankind later, you need to keep this appointment." Ed was silent. His body was motionless, as if his power source had died, and his eyes were resting on the floor tile just before his boots in an unseeing stare of morbid self-hate.

Roy felt his temper flare, his patience give way, and he reached out and grabbed Ed by the shoulders, and jerked Ed to face him. "Look at me," he said furiously. "Man up to this and look at me."

"You don't know what I've done!" Ed said, snapping out of his trance and grabbing Roy's wrists. "You think any of this pathetic, _absolutely pathetic_ , attempt, does anything to even _chip_ at the debt I created sealing him in that gate and locking him in that armor!" Ed began shaking. Roy felt Ed's anger rising and was relieved he could find it. _It was intense the way an open festering wound was puss filled._ "He was living like a vegetable locked in a metal box with his real body rotting away!" Ed jerked to escape Roy's grip, but Roy tightened it and held the boy steady. "The fact that I manage to get it back, doesn't even level the field. I can't return to him what he's lost. I can't even say this new body can ever truly recover!" Ed threw his metal palm forward in a thrust, and Roy took it to his diaphragm but masked the rough exhale and didn't let go. "You weren't there! You didn't see it! You can't imagine the place his real body sat in! You didn't see him trying to learn to live in a suit of armor, stuck trying to care for my dilapidated handicapped ass!" Ed threw his second hand out alongside the metal. "Let go of me!"

Roy felt himself answer, a calm and simple, "No," while his mind was hundreds of miles away trapped in the heart-pounding visual of a tiny blood covered child fumbling about in an adult's suit of armor.

"Now you want to have this shrink ask me how normal that was! How healthy that is! How capable I am of making good decisions when I've littered my decision-making path with glass and killed him once!"

"I want you to tell her the truth."

"The way I tell you the truth!" Ed screamed. "I'm talking to someone as twisted and broken as I am! I'm talking to someone who burned other people alive!"

Roy's hands lost strength, and he dropped Ed from his grasp.

Ed looked sorry and shocked with his words the moment they were out of his mouth. His jaw dropped, and visually he was mentally flailing over the impact of what he'd said, and the true carelessness of it.

Roy took a step away and disengaged. He didn't have a rebuttal for the accusation because it was true. He had burned people to death, and not just other soldiers, innocent women and children. Civilians begging and screaming for their lives, unable to lay a scratch on him, unable to so much as threaten him, and he mercilessly took their existence from them.

Roy gave Ed a crooked weak smile. He hadn't made it this far unable to face the horror of truthful allegations. "It's not a secret that I've murdered people," he said softly, surprised he could find it in him to continue the conversation, and with calm level-headed thought. Ed had severed eye contact with him and looked unable to continue when the phrase, I am sorry, fell so short. "But I'm not scared of what I've done the way you are. I know that when I have to pay for it, I deserve to do so."

Ed's expression suddenly dissolved so completely into a painful wince Roy was certain Ed planned to burst into tears, but all he did was whine out a soft, "How long do I have to keep paying?" Ed lifted his hands in an empty begging fashion. "I just can't do it anymore. I just need to have this one thing. I'm willing to pay for what I've done but…I don't think…I can bear the toll of losing him."

Roy felt a full smile bloom, at such an odd time, and so out of place in the moment. "And what an idiot you are crying over it when it's an uncertainty." Roy stepped forward and laid a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Have you ever stopped to consider how hard Alphonse would fight if he thought he was losing you?"

Ed lifted his gaze, and he looked drained to the bone and utterly helpless.

"I didn't mean what I said," Ed croaked, sounding tearfully sorry. "It was cruel, Roy." Ed gave his head a slow thoughtless shake, aghast with himself. "You should hit me."

Roy ignored this. "You can beg me for forgiveness later," he said, placing new found strength in his voice. "You hurt yourself making her wait. You have to do this so you can try and overcome this hurdle. Then you can spend as many hours as you want reading chick books in the library to become normal, and polishing my boots so I can consider overlooking how selfish you are."

Ed reached up to his face and rubbed his hand over it trying to collect himself. His eyes had gone red-rimmed in his moment of stress and shame-filled disgust, and Roy strengthened his grip to gain Ed's attention. Ed responded, dropping the hand from his face, and meeting Roy's gaze seeking guidance and reassurance.

"You'll keep paying," Roy said firmly. "Until you die, do you understand?" He lowered his voice into a cold merciless tone. "You will pay until you think you have nothing left, and then you'll pay some more, and you'll do it, because you're sorry for what you've done, and you will work to make amends even if your hardest efforts amount to an invisible fraction of your debt." Roy pointed to the floor between them. "This is it, what it really feels like, Ed. This hell is yours. You're paying right now. She is you paying, the letters we're writing, that I am writing, is you paying, Alphonse home without you, is you paying, and the weaker you are, the more you make us pay with you." He pointed to the conference door. "Now get your ass in that room, and make this work, so you stop making him suffer for your mistakes."

Ed's expression was weak in composure. His eyes pink with emotional burden, but Roy could see the gears turning in Ed's head, and knew Ed was hearing him. "Am I making you lose respect for me?" Ed asked softly.

Roy grunted a small bitter laugh. "You may be the most fat-headed person I've ever met. Do you really think you get to make all these decisions?" he teased, before kindly asking, "First you have to ask yourself, if I ever had respect for you."

* * *

Ed's meeting with Carol Sanders was exactly three hours. Afterward she returned to Mustang's office as chipper as when she arrived, and conversation continued exactly where it left off.

With Hawkeye briefing her on places to eat and sites to see in Central, Havoc was flirting shamelessly.

"There are some adorable cafes in walking distance. Let's step out for lunch and go to one," Hawkeye suggested, beaconing to Havoc. "Lieutenant, you want to take Carol and meet me at the one on Main?"

Havoc was a kid on Christmas. Hawkeye was not a woman to go to for dating options and hook-ups, and Roy knew he was in the dog house the minute she said this.

They were gone in minutes, with Hawkeye waving from the hall and promising to follow just as soon as she finished a few things.

Roy heard this translation: Few things = Roy Mustang. The office was now empty, with the exception of him, and Hawkeye returned and stood silently in the doorway. She could tell he wasn't in the best of places, and he didn't share it was because small children who committed mass taboo, had thrown his own childhood murders in his face almost two hundred minutes ago.

Hawkeye crossed the room slowly, looking innocent, before stopping before his desk and revealing her concern. "Sir, your letter is missing from the folder." She sounded worried and not accusatory.

"I want to make Ed sweat a little," Roy said, and he wanted to now more than ever. _The little pissant._ "He needs to take this serious, and understand his role in it all."

"Sir, he knows how serious it is."

"No he doesn't," Roy said angrily.

Hawkeye looked wounded, and stepped closer. "Sir, please stop putting him through the ringer with this," she said softly. "He's struggling."

"And he should," Roy snapped, before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands up his face. That was his anger speaking, and Hawkeye's brow pinched with confusion just between her eyebrows. He didn't sound right, even he'd admit it, and she was looking at him with new caution.

"Sir, are you okay?"

Roy dropped his hands from his face and plopped them onto the arm rests of his chair. With a deep cleansing sigh, he said, "You know, I'm putting my signature on this letter. I am vouching for him, and he doesn't understand the magnitude of that." He lifted his hand and poked his finger down on his desk. "I am putting my reputation on the line, with the threat of someone as naively idealistic, self-motivated, and bullheaded as Ed." The pinch in Hawkeye's brow was growing.

"What happened when you two went upstairs?"

Roy felt irritated she was homing in on what he didn't want to discuss. He became disgusted and she pulled back.

"Ling's letter came in early," she said. "They sped up travel using a form of Xingese Alchemy we were unfamiliar with, and now yours is the only one we don't have. Carol will have her report completed by tonight."

"Did she say so?"

Hawkeye nodded. "Yes."

"Did she say anything else?"

"I specifically asked her not to." Hawkeye took a step back and sighed heavily. "I have to go so Havoc doesn't try and maul her on the street." Roy offered a brief wave. "I want to give Ed the folder, so I'm going to. Then I'm going to tell him to come in here and get the letter you want to give him." Roy grunted bitterly with her word choice, but she ignored it.

She left and Roy sat thinking things over and swiveling softly in his chair. Much of the conversation he had with Ed was haunting him. Primarily how calm he had managed to stay, and how self-depreciating some of Ed's thoughts appeared to be. Being honest with himself, he wasn't sure how he felt about their conversation. Wasn't truly sure he was comfortable with the fact he hadn't punched Ed in the mouth for being so forward. The entire exchange was concerning, Ed's reaction, his reaction, and their reactions to each other. The only thing he felt he knew for certain, was that his initial concern Ed was too strung out with Alphonse was accurate.

 _And it seemed impossible to know just how deep the rabbit hole went._

Ed gave a brief knock and stepped into Roy's office with his eyes downcast. This cowardice riled a mild sense of disgust in Roy, but Ed managed to shut the door and approach at a confident pace.

The letter in question, was waiting in Roy's outbox, clearly visible. He had signed it earlier, and Hawkeye knew he had, because she made a point to know what was on his desk. Now the hostage situation confused her, because she didn't understand why he'd delay the only part of Ed's appeal he could truly control.

Ed came to a lazy stop, directly before Roy's desk, and they stared at one another. Both tired, both silent, and Roy was just beginning to feel irritated Ed wasn't speaking when he realized there wasn't anything to say.

Ed was right, what he said was cruel, maybe he should have been decked for it, and now it was just another piece of glass.

"How old were you when we first met?" Roy asked.

"The first time we met?" Ed asked. Roy remained silent. "Eleven."

"And how old was I?"

Ed glanced to the side, calculating. "Twenty-eight."

"Do you know what I saw, when I met you?"

Roy grew an unreadable smile, and Ed didn't answer. The question made him nervous. Scared and certain this conversation was growing unkind because of what was said upstairs. The memory of Mustang arriving at Pinako's was very clear. Ed knew what he had looked like, and what Mustang saw, or what Mustang thought he saw, was equally as pitiful, because when they'd met he'd been trapped in a bed, unable to even take a shit on his own.

Roy lifted the letter from his outbox and extended it, and Ed accepted it, expression certain the tally between then and now, was the sum of failure.

"I saw the same potential I see today," Roy said kindly.

The expression about Edward's downward gaze tightened dramatically, and Roy stood. Crossed to the front of his desk and dropped a hand onto Ed's shoulder. "And that is what the committee will see." Roy met Ed's gaze when it lifted, and then he said something he thought he never would. "Don't be afraid."

* * *

Roy completed Edward's appear request on his behalf, had Edward sign it from his cell, and expedited it.

The appeal was confirmed for the following date, at nine hundred.

For his submission, Ed had composed a cover letter summarizing his situation, outlining the documents he was submitting in refute, and snuck in some fancy referencing to his Amestrian accomplishments and patriotic devotion. They ensured it was well crafted and visually appealing before attaching Ms. Sander's mental health evaluation, and the letters of recommendation.

It was a fine start, and while Roy wasn't sure it was strong enough to dismiss the case entirely given the sensitive subject matter, it was at the very least compelling.

As promised, Ms. Sanders had completed her evaluation by nineteen hundred and delivered a copy to Ed in a sealed manila envelope. Since the woman could not freely walk through Central Command as a civilian, Hawkeye escorted her, and because Hawkeye was also Alphonse's temporary guardian, Alphonse was with them when they arrived after hours.

Expecting a large chunk of the following business day to be consumed with Ed's taxing allegiance, Roy was still in office attempting to catch up on work when Hawkeye reappeared in his open office doorway, and he took in the sight of all three of them, before slouching back in his chair with a heavy disapproving sign.

Hawkeye responded with a stoic expression, and tried to ignore Alphonse, who stood at her side bundled in clothing far too big for his body, until Roy lifted a hand in an exaggerated gesture of Alphonse's presence, and asked, "Really?"

No doubt the boy wanted to see Ed, but they were violating basic guidelines left and right.

"Sir, it will only take us a minute." Hawkeye's commitment to Ed's innocence seemed to destroy any willpower she had toward pretending, and therefore pretending with actions. Outside of her mufti and casually dressed, , she flashed Roy one of her rare favor-wanting smiles, and Roy interpreted her correctly: _It will only take us a minute to deliver this to Ed._ Us, meaning all three of us, the brother he's supposed to be separated from included.

Roy responded with a flat order. "Leave Alphonse here," and she looked surprised with the cold tone, so he amended with a polite smile, and added, "Please."

Alphonse obeyed at once, and left Hawkeye's side. Without crossing the line of ridiculous, or perhaps mildly crossing the line of ridiculous, he was bundled to the hilt, and even wore a scarf.

Roy found the attire a haunting reminder of Hawkeye's recent plight for hypothermia, and what she wanted from him.

"Alphonse, we'll be right back," Hawkeye said sweetly. She disappeared with Ms. Sanders, the sound of their heels echoing down the empty halls.

Alphonse took a seat on Roy's couch, set his gaze patiently on his knees, and together they found Hawkeye's statement was not so accurate.

Roy felt she was gone a while, but completing work he didn't realize it was actually over forty minutes until he glanced at the clock and found it approaching twenty hundred hours. Glancing to Alphonse with confusion, he noted Alphonse was also watching the clock. A damped sense of worry tipping his posture.

"Stay here." Roy sat his pen down and left to investigate.

What he found, he never expected.

From the descending stairwell Hawkeye and Ed were audible in conversation yelling at one another. Tones angry, without being personal, and Roy stalled in route. The sound of Ed's name in Hawkeye's voice with an angry connotation was new, and likewise, Roy felt immediate rage Ed was even lifting his voice to her.

Furious, he went stomping to the holding room door, but by the time he arrived and ripped it open, hers was the only voice left.

Crouched in front of Ed's cell, holding the bars with her face nearly between, Hawkeye was speaking quickly, as if the conversation was still in motion, but Ed was no longer participating.

He was sitting on his cot, buckled over in depression, resting his elbows on his knees. Head planted in his automail palm, the open manila folder was slipping from his limp left.

"Ed, stop it." Hawkeye's voice had a level of concern to it. "Stop this." She reached through the bars, extending her hand. "You're not reading it thoroughly. Give it to me." Ed didn't move. "Ed, listen." Hawkeye retracted her hand. "Listen to me, you can't ignore that this is happening." Ed looked to do just that. "Ed? You need to look at it, this is important. Your appeal is tomorrow. If there is something negative in there we can help you prepare. The Colonel will help cast it in an advantageous light, you know that's true, but you have to share this information with us." Hawkeye paused, allowing Ed time to respond, but he was motionless. Face masked in his palm, his expression was unreadable, but the body language was clear, and he looked defeated. "Ed, open the door," Hawkeye said, sounding a bit urgent. "Come on, open the door and let me in."

Ed gave the smallest shift in weight, and Hawkeye silenced when he licked his lips and in a steady expressionless tone, said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please go."

"Ed, your appeal is tomorrow." Hawkeye sounded panicked. "You need to be prepared for that. They will only review the case once for dismissal. You can't swing and miss." Ed shifted his weight again, uneasy with her continued presence, but didn't speak. "Ed," Hawkeye lowered her voice, and Roy could see her itching to get into the cell. She was as close as possible, and Roy felt certain Ed had strategically set himself in the middle of his cot to avoid her. Even if she moved to either side, she wouldn't be able to reach him, and she knew it.

She clung to the door, as if it were the gate to Ed's mouth, and persisted. "Ed, don't think I can't get into this cell." Gently, her tone moved to one of mild threat. "I am going to come in there and take that folder if you don't give it to me."

"This isn't any of your business," Ed said darkly. "This is my private information, and you don't have jurisdiction over me."

Hawkeye rose to her feet as if shot from a cannon. In a flash she ripped her gun from where it was concealed in the back of her skirt and aimed it at the lock of the cell door. "You're ten times bigger than you're making yourself out to be," she said, cocking the weapon. "This pansy-ass response isn't even like you."

Ed looked up with disbelief. Snared by the message and idiom, before jolting back on sight of the gun, with a loud, "Hawkeye! What the hell are," but the rest was buried under the sound of it firing.

She discharged four rounds, with her head turned to the side, and the echo painfully brutal. Hawkeye destroyed the lock with Ed wincing and covering his ears, and then slid it back into her holster with complete control. Casually, she caught the cell door as it drifted open, and then stepped inside.

Ed lowered his hands and looked at the broken lock before to Hawkeye's straight expression. Lifting the envelope he used it to point at her, and defended himself angrily. "Don't call me pansy-ass for this, Lieutenant. I am not being a pussy." It sounded desperate. "But I," Ed swallowed, brow falling and becoming tense beneath his bangs. _Painted obviously in Ed's expression Roy could see how desperately Ed wanted to talk to her._ "But I am scared," Ed confessed, unwavering tone confident and solid. "Okay?" Ed offered a few nods, relieved and embarrassed. "I am scared out of my mind, I'm going to get slapped with these charges, and worse…that Al's going to pay for it while he's down for the count."

Hawkeye remained silent. In having fired her way into Ed's cell, she had pressed through his last barrier, and he was breathing so hard it was audible.

"I can't convince myself I've made enough of the right choices, to think placing them all on a scale might let me come out on top." Ed tipped his head down in resignation. "It seems even less probable to assume that subject to society's standards, many of those I deem right, would even fall into that category." Ed lifted his gaze to Hawkeye, and his expression was crippled with anxiety. "I have a slighted hand to play," he said softly. "The stakes are high, they're fucking…" Ed gave his head a slow disbelieving shake. _Yes, the stake was legal separation from Alphonse, and for a reason as dark as this._ "And those odds make me want to piss myself."

Hawkeye extended her hand, and in a kind maternal tone said, "Okay, give it to me." Ed handed her the folder. "Let's go get something to eat." She gave a quick nod to the side.

Ed broke a weak smile. "You're going to get me in trouble."

Hawkeye stepped from the cell as though deaf. "Come on." She held the door open, expectantly. "You need a drink, and a meal." Ed was perched on the edge of his cot, squeezing the flimsy mattress with the desire to leave. "We'll go through this as we eat, line by line." Ed glanced at the folder with worry. "If there is good stuff." Hawkeye gave a shrug, "And if there is bad stuff." She gave another shrug.

Ed tipped himself forward in a playful rock, before sitting up with a second weak and appreciative smile. "Thanks," he said softly. "But we'll both be in the dog house if I leave again."

"No, you won't."

"The Colonel said I have to stay in here."

"He's fine with my offer."

Ed's expression wrinkled with confusion, and Roy watched Hawkeye lift the folder and gesture toward his partially concealed self.

"He's been watching us for a good few minutes."

Ed's head followed her gesture and whipped to the doorway where Roy stood. At once his mouth dropped open, and expression darkening, he bolted up with an angry, "Roy!" Ed stomped from his cell. "Why do you have to be such a dick!"

 _Why…_ Roy thought calmly… _do I have to be such a dick…_

* * *

A thousand pardons my dear readers! My stupid domestic flights were cancelled and delayed, so I arrived home super late last night, and couldn't post until I woke up, (groggy and zombie-ish with jet lag), today.

I can honestly say, I have missed a deadline in I don't remember when, so this shouldn't repeat. As I said, the story is completely written, so granted I have a stable internet connect, its smooth sailing.

All that said, I hope you enjoyed! Board of Squares starts a little slow, but you've almost reached the middle, and the ride down the uphill climb goes quick. Please don't be stingy, and leave me a review – I love to hear what you think.

Chapter Nine: _Den of Lions,_ will be posted 04/07/17.

Hope to see you there.


	10. Den of Lions

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Nine  
 _Den of Lions_

\- mirage–

Hawkeye wanted to leave the base and go to a restaurant. Take a private table, sit down, and have the time and atmosphere to talk, and look at what they needed for the case. She said a good warm meal would do Ed good, but Roy denied this request. Said he would not release Ed to the wild while in custody, and Ed latched to this phrase with distaste.

"You make it sound like I might go scampering off into the woods and you won't be able to find me."

Roy did not confess that was exactly what it felt like.

Together they went upstairs to the closed fourth floor cafeteria, and reopened it. Inside the large massive hall of tables gave a sense of privacy, and for the most part Hawkeye seemed pleased. Entered the employee area, and industrial pantries, and Alphonse followed, excited with curiosity.

"It's amazing how different it looks empty!" Alphonse called to Ed, trotting totting after her like Black Hayate. "Remember the first time we ate at Command, Nii-san!" That was years ago. "What do you feel like eating!" Alphonse's cheerful voice was echoing through the room

Ed walked to the first table and sunk onto the provided bench. Crossing his arms on the table he leaned into them, and answered, "Surprise me!" The tone was more than sour, and Roy approached and took the parallel seat. He was not optimistic a decent meal was coming. The first shift menu was limited even with their professional staff, and unmanned looked barren.

"How many pages is Ms. Sanders's report?" Roy asked. Ed lifted his shoulders, held them for a moment, and then dropped them dramatically. "You didn't check?" Ed was silent. "Did you read it?" Ed groaned into his arms. "You didn't read it yet?"

"No," Ed muffled. Roy kept his chuckle to himself. It was no wonder Hawkeye shot her way into the cell. She had a dangerous lack of patience for gutless deportment.

"Is there anything the report may cover want kept private from us?" Roy was trying to be considerate.

Ed uprooted his face, and turned his gaze to normally off limits food preparation area. At a stainless steel counter Hawkeye was visible preparing something with Alphonse orbiting her in a platinum forest of oversized industrial culinary equipment.

"All things considered," Ed said miserably, "what privacy do I really have anymore."

"It could be worse." Roy offered a playful smile, and Ed glanced over, brow creased with skepticism. "Can always be worse." This shouldn't have been comforting, but it was. "I'd also prefer not to expend any of my time reading which mailroom stewardess you'd like to bang, or how often you're home pitifully beating off, if I can."

It was a joke; of the driest humor, and expression unchanged Ed sat staring, before he broke out laughing and Roy followed. They enjoyed it together, and Ed buried his face back in his arms, enjoyed the respite, and then sat up quickly, cracking his neck.

Hawkeye returned with white bread turkey sandwiches, and an unimpressed, "This is it," and no one complained. They passed out a stack of melamine plates, set a wad of napkins in the middle, and Ed appreciated the simplicity.

"Ed, before we start reading this can you tell us what style your conversation was in?" Hawkeye asked, opening Ed's folder with Ed flying through his sandwich. Alphonse sat patiently before a cup of water, and looked repelled to even touch the untested military bread and processed meat.

"It was casual like," Ed said, chewing. "She just asked me questions, and I answered them."

Hawkeye slid the report from Ed's folder, and glanced up looking solemn. "Every question in this is something you are comfortable with us reading, yes?"

Ed wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and affirmed with a brief nod and muttered, "It's tolerable." Pointed at the report. "We only discussed professional stuff. All the important things, like my favorite color, favorite food, and how I pronounce the word tomato she forgot to ask."

Hawkeye was caught off guard with the sudden joke, and sneezed her way into a brighter expression and tiny smile. Roy caught her discrete look and knew she attributed Ed's lift in mood to him, but said nothing. _Oh, the power of sex jokes._

"Here." Hawkeye extended Ed his report, and he took it slowly, comedy falling. "It's yours, Ed." She was being kind, but Ed's speed of chewing was coming to a crawl, and with a look of discomfort building he thrust the report to Alphonse and demanded, "You do it."

Alphonse was surprised, and Ed argued the expression with a defensive, "I can't be the one to read it. You do it."

Alphonse accepted the packet asking a sarcastic, "Cause it's my fault?" and flipped it open. Quickly he began reading without them, and explained with a quick, "Just a moment, and I'll summarize."

Roy wasn't certain he was comfortable with this. "Alphonse, a summary is not going to suffice. We can expect any committee to focus on select clauses and even phrases to anchor a case."

Alphonse acknowledged this with a quick nod, but didn't stop reading, and Roy shared a glance with Ed. _This is not going to work,_ the glance said.

"Okay, front page," Alphonse said, flipping inward to the second, "was her introducing herself, citing the evaluation request as, means to determine mental health for one, Edward Elric, as it relates to active discussion over circumstances relevant to younger Sibling, Alphonse Elric." Roy was impressed with Alphonse's ability to recite material so accurately and shared a second glance with Ed. _This might work,_ the glance amended. "She's a good writer," Alphonse said, sounding impressed and reading on. "She doesn't talk about the evaluation at all, just gives her findings, and she lists them in bullets under two headings. The first is, Psychological Assessment of Personality Factors and Behaviors, and the second is, Emotional Factors. One second." Alphonse went silent, gaze dropping down the page as he read at a fantastic rate, and Hawkeye turned a slow gaze to Roy that said, _see the change?_

This was the boy from the armor. The reflective and analytical boy they'd known in spirit. Not the scatter brained squirrely child in the flesh.

With his teeth Ed pulled a piece of turkey from his sandwich, and with it hanging from his mouth, said, "Don't get nitty-gritty, Al. Just spit it out."

Alphonse held up a hand for silence, and continued reading. Devoured several pages, effortlessly, and said, "Okay." Gathered his bearings. "Under Personality and Behaviors, Nii-san, she says you're expressing clinging tendencies and excessive worry over, what she refers to as Sibling. She attributes this to the fact Sibling is the last member of your family, and you are Sibling's sole care giver. She also says you're expressing a strong desire to act upon right, or socially moral, care giving, which she attributes to fostered and bred military teachings being instilled on you at a young age." Ed grunted skeptically. "Then lastly she says you're demonstrating military philosophy to take responsibility, and this appears exaggerated due to the high level of anxiety suggestion of injury to Sibling causes you." Staring into the packet Alphonse was impressed and lifted his eyebrows. "You actually sound like a good soldier, put like that."

Ed bat this aside, with a kind, "Shut up."

Roy supported this. "You do, Ed."

"Whatever. I don't want to hear shit about what the military's teaching me to do. They haven't infiltrated my head to any level that deep."

Roy lifted the second half of his sandwich, and teased a dry, "I'm sure she saved the incriminating stuff for last."

Ed was insulted. "That's not funny."

Roy laughed at his own joke, and Alphonse moved on. Did his best to disclose a balanced and transparent summary of the facts while observing a sensitive consideration for Ed as both the subject and receiver.

The second half of the report listed medical terminology, but Alphonse read it easily. Was a decent public speaker, and Roy ignored Hawkeye's look when he felt it punctuating the demonstration. When it was unmistakable that Alphonse was acting like, sounded like, and thinking like, his armored self, he could tell she was satisfied with herself. Excited and almost proud, and he didn't know how to refute the evidence. Didn't know how to say, it looked like you might be right, when seemed so impossible she could be right.

Sanders had written them a vantage point. Without becoming abusively detailed, she advised that Ed's current charges appeared to be bringing him to a toxic state. Causing him to question his importance and worth. That without correction to the groundless charges, momentum capable of penetrating Edward's professional and social perceptions, which were valuable to the military, would develop. With very little medical training it was easy to see Ed was harboring a swell of mildly unhealthy traits, and to these, exaggerated tendencies and inconsistently extreme emotional expression, Sanders touched only briefly. She referenced the broken home, death of the mother, abandonment of the father, and politely explained Ed's distorted boundaries, fear of abandonment, and extreme fear over separation from Alphonse, in a passive casual way, as if to suggest, doesn't everyone have these problems?

Alphonse imitated, reading and explaining with a nonjudgmental tone, and every effort to be courteous, but Ed wasn't an idiot. As he listened he lowered his sandwich and averted his gaze. Gradually his expression slid into a pout Roy recognized, and Roy found the healthy response comforting.

This was Edward's common response to topic accuracy in lieu of nonexistence. The tried and true, I-Don't-Want-To-Hear-It, sulk _._

Hawkeye took note, with ongoing concern their best intentions were intimately invading in Ed's private affairs, but Ed's tight expression exposed only tolerant embarrassment. Dictated medical review you were clinging to your half-alive younger brother because everyone else was dead was uncomfortable, but it was also obvious. The Elrics hadn't arrived in office yesterday, and had achieved what they had over the years because of the office.

When Ed lost his appetite listening, and dropped his sandwich to his plate, Hawkeye imagined this was the same awkwardness Ed felt when he was thirteen and called out on his lack of showering. _And this was important, because it made things familiar._ Made it routine. A temporary social accusation that would pass. As the veil to a hidden agenda, it was also the veil to a helpful one. _The cryptic adult world, where they were steps ahead of you, but wanted to help you._

Without humiliation, Ed set his eyes on his plate, and listened actively. He feared each sentence would be the one ink mark he couldn't erase. The suggestion he didn't know what he was doing: with his life, with his own body, and with Alphonse. That he was a nutcase. That he was insane to try human transmutation, and had since that day, carrying on with the same two metal blemishes, become no better at having a younger brother.

What could he say had really improved? What now could he offer Alphonse that he then could not? A stable home and healthy life, certainly wasn't it. He had pulled Alphonse into the military with him. People had been shooting at them for years. They had been knee deep in political scandals, bureaucratic bloodbaths, and things as scarring for growing kids as the good-old-fashion hostage situation. To start laundry listing their activity would be suicide, and all it would take was one interested party. One prying eye, saying: _Hey, this questionable situation sounds just a bit more questionable than I'm comfortable with. Just what have these two boys been up to?_

There was a wealth of maltreatment and exploitation from almost every angle. Any agency, any third party could take their pick. What upset you? The crumbling home life, constant travel, unstable role models, desire for additional taboo, lack of supervision enabling self-inflicted life threatening danger? They were a bull's-eye with nothing but a center target. You couldn't miss. Whether what they had been up to was misconstrued as inaccurately as something sexual, or discovered as accurately as illegal transmutation and nearly constant threat, it all depended on whether or not you wanted to look.

Ed was sure, after thinking about it for days, and after feeling that first icy grip of panic in the clinic lobby on the phone with Mustang, that his life couldn't afford any Peeping Toms.

Carol Sanders sympathized with this in an unspoken but unambiguous display of her data. The conclusion little less than the closing statement for a defense case. She defined Ed with the medical diagnosis of harmless, with no forecast of concern. She stated twice, two different ways, that trauma responses were a normal reflex, and not a sign of mental instability. That intense motivation to obsess over Alphonse was a healthy expression of devotion, and Roy was certain he loved the woman.

Enjoyed her for being clever, and would have hired her as a lawyer. Her facts were loud, but subtle. Disguised as mundane review. As if everyone agreed Ed was a common case, and oh, wasn't she the one who just happened to make the boring report to prove it. _What's all this hog-wash about incestuous what? Heavens to Betsy, that's just silly._

Alphonse reached the end, reading almost monotone, before stopping with a blossomed frown of shock when Carol referenced Ed's love in a way that suggested it was Ed's right to love people as he saw fit, and not a removal of Alphonse's rights to be on the receiving end of such inventive expression.

Then they were silent.

With the last few sentences missing, and still so much to think about.

"Ed," Hawkeye broke the long silence, looking happy. "This will be great for your case." Ed's expression was washed. Mentally and emotionally drained in a way a cold turkey sandwich just couldn't fill. "What Carol is saying, is that your intent to keep Alphonse safe, is so strong, you would recognize yourself as an enemy, and intervene to stop yourself." This was in the report, and it was a stroke of creative genius. Whether or not it was true, Roy found that debatable. He had seen Ed get a little crazy over the years, and felt relatively certain if Ed was up to his neck in an idea, his swinging fists and kicking feet would not see their way out.

Ed looked cautiously reassured with Hawkeye's kind words. He glanced up from his plate for only a second and gave a quick breath of embarrassed relief. Leaned his head into his palm and took to scrubbing his left eye and temple.

Roy took things farther. "She just wrote your appeal."

Alphonse leapt with hope. It was hard to read a report and truly understand how a panel of seasoned military personnel would understand it, but it the knowledge gap was much shorter for Roy and Hawkeye. They had developed a survival instinct that required proper calculation for self-preservation.

Ed moved to speak, hesitated, and then shrugged. "I mean, I'm glad it's not," and what was the word for it, "worse, but…" _but was it enough?_

"Ed, she's campaigning your certainly as stable as we need you, and debunking any suggestion of abuse by implying even your subconscious would not allow it," Roy explained. "Any committee will be hard pressed to combat that, considering your subconscious is probably a cluster." Ed gave Roy a cold look, but Roy was content. "Everything else she explained away with references to the broken home." The second half of Ed's sandwich was abandoned and Ed's hand hovered above his dish, fingers flexed as if sticky. "You've got a solid core with this, what do you think?"

Ed sputtered a muddled sound, and averted his gaze back into the room. He had too many thoughts to pack into a response, but they waited, patiently.

"And here I was…" Ed said softly, staring out at the tables, tone still incredibly vulnerable. "…wishing she'd be hideously fat."

* * *

Roy felt confident Ed's appeal submission conveyed serious dedication, and admirably assembled pertinent reference material in a respectful manner. The ball was not in Ed's court, but his work was reputable, and Roy had guaranteed their petition reflected this. It gave him wobbling confidence, and reminded him of his own state alchemist exam, where he waited in a cold nervous sweat certain what he handed in was his best, while worrying his best wasn't good enough.

Ed had put himself together for his hearing, and Roy was satisfied. Breda had released Ed from his cell that morning with directions to take care of himself, and Ed had. He was clean, his clothing alchemically scrubbed and pressed, and he looked contented in his traditional outfit, but commanding in detail. _Ed was good at detail,_ and he had pieced himself together imitating their approach to his appeal. Anything silver was shining, anything leather was polished, and Roy was proud.

The conference room of the legal committee was fashioned after Central's court rooms for both familiarity and appropriate function. The committee assumed the head of the room at a long panel style table of seven men: two Generals, two Brigadiers, and three Colonels. Without arbitrary need of a jury, the remainder of the room spanned outward. Split into what was traditionally the defense and prosecution. Informally two appeals occupied the room at a time, dividing themselves between the defendant or plaintiff side.

Today, at zero nine hundred, the plaintiff side was Edward's case, and the defendants' side had a small collection of binders carried in by a single soldier, but no attendance. The appeal scheduled for ten hundred found no reason to start a grueling meeting early, and this sentiment was shared by the general military populous, who had access to witness appeals as desired, but seldom did so. The public gallery of chairs in the back of the room were empty with the exception of Falman, Hawkeye, and Alphonse.

At zero eight fifty-nine, Ed was directed to assume the plaintiff table, and Roy accompanied him as the Direct Report. Then the committee was flipping through Ed's documentation. All seven men impressively senior with distinguished careers, and confident inscrutable faces. They carried on with a fashion of disinterest, certain Ed's report would yield familiarity, while mildly curious for current events.

"Edward Elric, this is a request to have your charges erased?" the committee asked, members still reading and muttering quietly to one another. The speaker was General Keshow, a well distinguished articulate man with an idiolect that birthed nothing without careful consideration and analysis. His widespread respect and intellect was so much an asset to the board he was the unspoken poster child. The face of the entire panel.

Ed was seated respectfully in his chair. Weight evenly distributed, both feet flat, and his hands linked professionally before him, but in every way he looked poised to run a race as soon as he heard gunfire. With the committee's question Ed leaned forward, and said, "Yes, my request is to have the charges ceased and erased."

General Keshow gave a slow thoughtful nod with eyebrows raised apathetically. The committee continued to shuffle through each document. Speaking softly to one another, sharing thoughts, and referencing excerpts for review.

Ed was tense, and Roy was deliberately trying to keep a very casual appearance. "Don't let them see you nervous," Roy cautioned, speaking softly.

Ed closed his eyes and took a breath. His muscles felt tight with anxiety, and he was locking them together as if buckling down for a storm. His knee wanted to bounce, his fingers wanted to drum, his flesh ankle felt overwhelmingly restless and was begging to tap, but he forced himself to remain still. The most readable signal about him, was his itch to move to the defensive, and he was fighting it.

"Major Elric," General Keshow said, having obtained a few whispers from the panel. "The committee is asking you for your opinion on the charges."

Ed's answer was immediate, "They're false," and though he didn't move, something about his words seemed to snap forward and crack. The f sound was poignant, as if with profanity.

"Are you a homosexual, Major Elric?" General Keshow asked, slow, and with an uncaring disinterest. "You're not required to answer. It is my responsibility to make you aware of that fact." At the tip of General Keshow's nose perched an incredibly thin pair of disarming spectacles, and they lay doormat to the light as the man spoke down to the report. "It is your right to observe a pass with this question, we're extending you that courtesy as there are peers attending your entreaty." The man lifted a paper, paused, and then replaced it. "However, your answer will not sway the committee's decision. The committee is simply posing a question to better understand what may be other mitigating circumstances."

Ed's answer was just as quick. His tone commanding, entitled, and missing nothing as he closed the topic with a quick, "I am not, sir" and returned it to his desired focus. "I am offended by the suggestion in the charges, and I am requesting the committee provide support in the form of correction, sir."

Roy was proud of Ed's verbiage. He had seated himself at a slight angle, with his right arm forward on the desk and his left comfortably at his side. Perfectly still he lifted his pointer finger and gave the table a single deliberate tap, and Ed noticed. The effect was a mental high five, and Ed gave his lips a quick optimistic lick, but kept his eyes trained on the committee.

"Who is the female doctor?" Major General Kohle asked the committee members. He leaned inward flipping through his packet. "Where are her credentials?"

"Who is this, Ms. Carol Sanders?" General Keshow asked, lifting his gaze and setting them on Roy. "Colonel Mustang, that question is for you."

"Ms. Sanders is a psychologist seasoned with military experience. She's completed contract assignments for us before, and came as a referral. On short notice, she was kind enough to expedite an appointment, General."

"She completed the evaluation yesterday?" General Keshow was leafing through the referral letters with the enthusiasm of the strongly employed grazing the classified. His middle finger tossed them into a graceful arch via the lower right hand corner, until he reached the Xing parchment, and then he raised his eyes curiously. "Major Elric?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long was your evaluation?"

"Three hours, sir."

"What did you think?" Returning to the Xingese scroll, Keshow turned it carefully. Ed weaved his weight from either side, hesitating with the question's ambiguity, and the General looked up. "With the evaluation?" General Keshow clarified. "What did you think?"

Ed's already tight brow grew tighter with disagreement, but he kicked his shoulders back with confidence, and said, "I didn't like it, sir."

Ed's honesty was met with a low collective chuckle. It lifted something in the room, and Ed took a deep breath when the air suddenly felt easier to breathe.

Roy gave his finger another tap.

The committee advised they were going to take a few minutes in council, and retreated to talk only amongst themselves. They were skilled dictators, and revealed nothing when pointing toward documents, tossing their fingers in conversation, giving small shakes of the head, or nods, so that nothing was overly encouraging or disheartening. The most that could be gathered was that opinions existed.

Respectfully, Roy kept silent, and maintained composure. Ed imitated easily, until General Keshow leaned forward and planted his elbows on the desk, ready to begin. The Brigadier on Keshow's right was continuing a long strand of whispers into his ear, and Ed gave a deep unsteady breath, bracing himself for the next round.

"Major Elric," General Keshow said, carefully adjusting the spectacles on his nose. "I think I am going to start by saying this to you…the committee does have some questions, and the point I want to make is not to become discouraged. We have what could be, what might be considered, a concern for your brother's safety, and we think that is a concern you would stand in support of." Ed nodded quickly. "So we feel strengthening your supportive evidence further is necessary in preparation for unforeseen, but unwanted, litigation." Several of the committee members were mumbling agreement. "We want to make sure all of us, yourself included, feel confident with the evidence you have to substantiate the committee's decision, and we want your involvement with that decision." The General paused, considering his own speech, before looking out to Alphonse and Hawkeye. "Is your brother in the room, Major Elric?"

"Yes, sir."

General Keshow gave a soft nod, and muttered a kind, "Okay, son," before sitting back with comfortable resolve. "At this time we're not going to discuss any matters which have a strong relation to your brother out of respect, and we are going to say this," General Keshow carefully removed his spectacles and set them on the paper covered desk, "we're going to recommend another psychological evaluation of yourself, to have the support of a second professional within your case, and…we feel that is important, and that you would agree." The General paused, and although Roy could feel Ed absolutely did not agree Ed forced an obedient nod just the same. "That's good," the General said offering a candid smile. "And we appreciate that, we do feel cooperation here is important." The General lifted his hand and gestured to the report in a quick up and down motion. "All this," the man said, "with all this we would also request that a psychological evaluation and medical physical be given to your brother by the fine medical team we have here at Central Command, and that request is something we would make subject to his approval of course." The General gave pause, delightfully gracious in his manner of allowing Ed time to consider and respond to the hidden meaning lacing the conversation. _The requirements and demands painted kindly as requests and opinions for no other reason than to be considerate._

Ed stiffened with this ultimatum, before slowly turning around in his chair and looking to Alphonse. Alphonse was listening intently where he sat at Hawkeye's side. Wearing what looked to be baggy casual clothing beneath a coat, Alphonse immediately nodded, and Ed turned back around and answered.

"He agrees, sir."

"Thank you," General Keshow said, lifting his gaze to Alphonse and giving a nod. "And thank you, young man. That is appreciated." From the far end of the table the Major General Kohle lifted Ling's scroll up to the light and Roy was certain he could see the man mouthing, "for cock-fucking-sake."

General Keshow picked up his glasses and folded them with deliberate care. The man was quite blatantly chewing over a thought. Pondering it with ease, but endowing a silence to extend respite to what was otherwise an interrogation.

The gesture was the only thing Ed received. The silence sent his nerves spiking and Roy could see it. Ed was hardening himself for what might be the stake of the committee's argument. Hunching forward a fraction lower in his chair, his mouth shrunk into a thin line of restraint. With the stress his blinking was coming like a nervous twitch, and his mind was spiraling topics in and out at a rate that was becoming a barreling speed, until Roy intervened.

Roy took action, and politely cleared his throat. In the silent room it had the impact of a shout. Hit Ed's ears like a detonating bomb, and Ed's pupils darted to Roy, and they were able to share a fast equivocal glance. Ed was drifting into his own world of concern, but their locked gaze yanked him back, planted him firmly in his chair, and relaxed Ed's shoulders what little they had additionally tensed.

"Where are you living right now, Major Elric?" General Keshow asked, as if making conversation.

"The…military barracks, sir."

Keshow gave a bright reminiscent smile, as if recollecting his own youth in the same dorms before asking, "Do you like it?" The man's voice took on a compassionate interest, like that of a grandfather.

Ed gave a shrug. "It's okay, sir," Ed said. "Can't complain I guess."

"How long have you lived in our dorms?"

Ed gave a quick breath. "A couple years," Ed added them mentally, "six years, sir."

General Keshow nodded. "Are you opposed to moving?" The gentle tone began to fade, giving way to strategic thinking, and the voice of a commander.

Ed gave his head a small absent shake. "Sir?" Ed said, sounding uncertain. "I guess not, sir?"

The committee has taken a look at your residence Major Elric and we are going to assign you a new dorm." Keshow folded his hands over Ed's report with satisfaction. "One that's a bit bigger." Ed began nodding with a poorly hidden look of confusion. "One with two bedrooms." Ed froze. "We think that might be helpful for you, and it just so happened there were a few available." This was an outrageous lie, as two bedrooms meant more square footage, and the waiting list was long.

Ed was speechless, and Roy cleared his throat, and discretely whispered, "Say, thank you sir."

"Thank you, sir," Ed repeated, briefly bowing his head in gratitude.

"It's no trouble at all," Keshow said, lifting a hand, and leaning back in his chair as if uncomfortably humbled with the appreciation. "You can have your evaluation today, and if your brother's schedule is open, he can as well. The committee will support your appeal, upon full cooperation from yourself, receipt of requested documents, and appropriate report and substance within such. You understand, we need firm confidence in your character and judgment, as well as your loyalty, Major, you can agree to us evaluating that, can't you?"

"Yes, sir." Ed answered without a second thought. "Absolutely, sir."

"Good, a small test of performance and judgment than," General Kesow said, leaning to the Colonel on his right when the man offered a small muffled comment. Ed looked at the man with immediate accusation: _Shut up! Don't wreck things when they're going well!_ , but the remark only made Keshow chuckle, and after a short laugh, he returned to his forward posture and continued. "Once your evaluation is completed, we will grant you release from custody on what we can consider probation." Ed was thrilled, and his brow dropped its crippling stress and went smooth. "Once all requested documents are completed and obtained, we will render a final verdict."

"Do I come back for that?" Ed asked, eagerly. Roy glanced at Ed. He could have answered that question, but the committee seemed not to mind. The General considered himself a good judge of character and did not seem overly concerned with Ed, or the almost starved expression Ed had trained on the man.

"No son, there is no reason to come back," Keshow said happily. "We will release official documentation of your approval or denial to yourself and Colonel Mustang. In your case if your appeal is denied, and I say this not to worry you, only to offer some advice, my suggestion would be to contact legal representation immediately to best pursue other outlets."

"I will, sir." Ed agreed, looking ready to climb over the table and hug the man.

"With case approval, the committee will manage contacting any related third parties independently to clear this up." Ed breathed a fast sigh of relief and broke a smile. "How does that sit with you?" Ed's response was obvious, and the General wore a pleased grin.

"That's great, sir." Ed said happily. "Just awesome, thank you, sir."

Keshow waived one of the conference room's two posted soldiers forward and politely directed them to Ed. "Will you escort him, please?" the General asked. Major General Kohle handed the soldier a packet of papers and the man received them before approaching Ed.

Ed stood and gave Roy a quick celebrating glance before leaving with his escort. Keshow read the time, and announced the closure of Ed's hearing.

Roy stood to leave, and stopped when General Keshow called a soft, "Colonel Mustang?" Keshow slid his glasses back on and looked up with a curiously pleased expression. "What are your thoughts on all this?" Roy was silent. Above Keshow's pleasant smirk, the man's spectacles were glinting softly in the light. "Fullmetal has been in your charge for years." Keshow tipped his head forward without breaking his gaze. "How did he work himself into this mess?"

Roy fought the smile that rose within him. Confidently he said, "Fullmetal's devotion to the military continues to prove itself as littered with eccentricity as it does loyalty and victory."

Keshow began a soft approving mirth, but Roy remained stoic. He didn't feel the need to elaborate. Proleptically the committee's research was already complete, the new dorm already secured, the verdict, all but decided.

"Loyalty and victory," Keshow repeated thoughtfully. The man's eyes were cunning, and Roy could see this phrasing mulling about in his head. "Those are strong words coming from a decorated Colonel." And they were.

Roy kept silent, and General Keshow's smile widened a fraction of an inch. "I am sure we can use that Colonel, very good," General Keshow said. "Very good."

* * *

Hello dear readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I apologize for my silence to all those reaching out, my vacation drained the life out of me! Four days back, still adjusting from jet lag I caught this awful head cold and was knocked flat. So…I've been recovering, and irresponsibly working on an upcoming Soul Eater story (I know, I know, don't laugh.) For some inane reason I'm just having an absolute blast with it.

Any who, please leave a review! They are love.

Chapter Ten: _Hundred Pound Dog,_ will be posted 04/21/17.

Hope to see you then.


	11. Hundred Pound Dog

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Ten  
 _Hundred Pound Dog_

\- mirage–

Celebration of Ed's released from custody took place at Hawkeye's favorite cafe the evening of his appeal, and the small shop was packed.

Decorated for the season, autumn colors, paper leaves, and fat orange pumpkins littered the coffee beans, beverage merchandise, and pastry display cases. A seasonal ambiance cluttered the tiny shop of few tables, and left Roy struggling to find an empty one of suitable size. His team had, in an unspoken but communal way, disagreed long ago with his indecisive and disorganized manner of group-ordering, and reduced him to table-detail the way the office reduced Havoc to lunch-fetcher.

In the crowded shop, with employees shouting ingredients and running blenders, Roy regrettably assumed the only vacant table seating four, and watched the counter where his lot was parading about.

Bundled to the hilt and nearly face to the glass drooling over the displayed confectionary products, Alphonse was at Ed's side. The boy had buttoned his coat and secured a scarf, and looked to be prattling with Ed oblivious. Havoc was ordering for the brothers, and growing frustrated with Ed's inability to select a bag of chocolate covered coffee beans. From his seat at the table, Roy watched Havoc sent dramatic points toward several options, while Ed stood frowning with concentration.

Roy heard Havoc's quick, "Who cares?" and then, "That one looks fine too!" impatient and dodging glances at Hawkeye, as if she might assist, because she stood between them with her calm gaze reading the blackboard menu behind the counter, but she did not.

Was unaware Ed sought Alphonse's opinion on the coffee beans, and that the implication of further delay led Breda to miserably open the bag he intended to purchase and begin eating in line.

"Hey, have either of you had the cinnamon pumpkin white chocolate chai latte?" Hawkeye asked, gracefully interrupting every conversation around her by ignoring them. "It sounds really good. I might get that."

Alphonse was reading ingredients labels, no one answered her, and Roy turned his attention to the shop door.

Propped open with a blackboard street sign listing daily specials, it welcomed the sounds of the sidewalk strollers and cars. From the corner intersection Roy could hear Major Armstrong approaching before the man was in sight, and he waited expectantly before lifting an arm when the man tried to squeeze through the shop door with the discretion of a bear.

"Colonel!" Armstrong called, approaching with Sheska, out of uniform, and looking younger still with a colorful autumn scarf. She entered waiving enthusiastically, and just as enthusiastically ran ahead to the counter because Colonel Roy Mustang was boring and sometimes rude.

Armstrong navigated the small coffee tables like a bull in a china shop and stopped at Roy's side with a kind, "How is everything?"

The question was asking: _How is your wrongfully imprisoned subordinate, just released, who looks as if he might be having a hard time of it? The kind-hearted child._

Roy ignored this, and complained, "I am only half way through my budget report."

Armstrong suppressed a smile. Gargantuan throat plucking a base cord, in humored understanding.

 _He's fine, much better. The little son-of-a-bitch._

"Every sixth question asks me to confirm numbers," Roy said, lifting his hand in disgust. "What's the point of compiling the god damn thing if you want me to recalculate it? I would have just preferred calculate it myself."

Armstrong popped a good-natured, and leaned down. Panting a massive paw on the back rung of Roy's chair, Roy felt it protest the weight, and gave Armstrong his focus, when he muttered a discrete, "My family has close ties with one of the Brigadier's on the committee, and he thinks Ed will not have a problem having his appeal approved." Armstrong winked, and Roy felt his spirits lift.

"That's great news." It was. "But as pay back for this headache, I intend to tell him it's been denied, just to see him squirm a little." Armstrong's expression fell with horror and Roy tried to defend himself. "I'll correct myself right after, Major." He gave Armstrong's swollen bicep a playful swat. "What? Have things in the East dried out your sense of humor?"

"But it's such an awful joke." Armstrong was stung. "He'll take it so to heart."

Roy laughed with delight. "Yes." Eagerly he awaited his vengeance "Yes, he will."

Alphonse approached the table with a loud greeting for Armstrong and set a pumpkin chai before Roy. The action was distracted. Alphonse was already breaking into happy social chatter when he plopped down the cup, and Roy looked at it. _The Styrofoam print of smiling autumn leaves, the abnormally high mountain of whipped cream._

Roy turned, and looked for Hawkeye accusingly.

The group descended on the table, and Breda was loud enough in public that when Falman entered the café in an amiable approach, he was backpedaling just quickly looking embarrassed by the man.

Responded to Havoc's hurt sounding, "Falman, man, where are you going?" with nothing more than a single victory thumbs-up for for Ed, and fled.

Ed was busy peeling the ingredients label off his purchased coffee beans, and missed the gesture entirely.

"Sir," Havoc sunk into the seat at Roy's side sounding disappointed. "What do you think of this." He beckoned for Ed's attention. "Ed said his new military shrink was preaching to him during his evaluation."

"She's not my shrink," Ed corrected with insult.

"What do you make of that?" Havoc asked. He began a long sip of his coffee and Hawkeye took the seat at his side.

Holding a cheerful cup topped with whipped cream, she deposited a dessert in front of Havoc, and with delight, he returned his cup to the table and rubbed his hands together as if preparing for a large feast.

"If the committee wanted to tell the chief something, wouldn't they have just done it?" Havoc asked. Hawkeye's plate held a red velvet pastry with small cherries and drizzled chocolate. "You think they suspect Ed of butt-buddying with Alphonse?"

"She's not my shrink!" Ed snapped, criticizing Havoc's choice of words with a sharp slap to his shoulder. "She said the military wanted to offer corrective instruction to help me," Ed was angry and plopped into the last vacant chair. "But corrective instruction is just a fancy way of saying military brainwashing, so the hell if I listened."

Roy wanted to groan, and Havoc looked too pleased with himself when he teased a dry, "Military brainwashing that tells you not to shag your brother."

Ed reached over with his automail fist and dropped it onto Havoc's dessert like a hammer. Breda found this hysterical and broke into laughter while Ed returned to conversation. Now much calmer.

"We did everything the committee asked for today, Alphonse included." Hawkeye shared a humored glance with Roy, but she didn't comment. "So that means everything is in the bag." Breda kept laughing, and Ed lifted his hand, and smeared a red and white smudge along the edge of Havoc's plate with Havoc glaring.

"You're a little shit, Ed." Havoc gave the dish an angry shove into the table and left to reorder.

"What!" Ed called after Havoc, beginning to laugh. "Come on Lieutenant, you can still have it!" Ed pointed to the smear of frosting and crumbs, before a quick frown took his expression, and he yelled a serious, "Don't call me little, Havoc!"

* * *

Ed was cheerful after his release from incarceration. Armstrong shared his sentiments he had it on good authority the verdict would be favorable, and both brothers looked happier than they had in days.

As a group they enjoyed after work coffee and overpriced sugar-coated, chocolate-lathered desserts, before beginning to disperse. Havoc and Breda were first, when several half uniformed soldiers popped in with carefree invites to late night plans. They were a small group with two female officers laughing and joking out on the sidewalk.

Shesha, who had stayed, but kept conversation largely with Armstrong, Alphonse, or Havoc, was committed to grocery shopping and left with animated waving to run errands. Armstrong as well, left shortly after brief well wishes to Ed, looking satisfied, and Roy found himself and the First Lieutenant the only ones left.

Discretely, Roy gave her a glance. _Ditch the Elrics,_ his look said, _go enjoy yourself._ He knew she missed home, if for nothing more than her wealth of guns to clean, dog to cuddle, and plants to water.

He, on the other hand, had a date, and excused himself with a wide grin announcing he had extended plans of the pleasurable sort. In jest Hawkeye batted at his playfulness with her napkin, and Alphonse didn't grasp the meaning.

It abandoned her with the Elrics and when she opened the conversation for departure, Alphonse wasn't ready to leave her. Offered to accompany her on any errand she referenced and she surrendered. Went to the post office with Alphonse following happily and Ed in toe, largely silent but looking none too bothered. Found herself unable to deflate Alphonse's excitement and was persuaded into returning to the Elric apartment for dinner, even while feeling unsure she should be.

"It's no problem!" Alphonse said happily. "Hawkeye, it's no problem! You're a great dinner guest, and now that I can eat two new foods, dinner will be much better than it has been." Alphonse was walking backwards up the dorm's stairwell, and flashed two fingers to Hawkeye's kind smile and Ed's silent, but tense, expression.

"Al, don't be rude, she might have to go home." Ed was trying to be polite. Alphonse waved this off as preposterous with an elaborate blow of air, and Hawkeye laughed. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew why Alphonse wanted her to stay, and it had nothing to do with dinner. He was developing her basic theory into a scientifically tested one, and for the moment she was the only collaborating party. Although Roy thought she was out of her mind for suggesting hypothermia, Alphonse did not. He listened carefully when she explained, and then sat quiet contemplating her idea. He shot forward some obstacles, those being his lack of consistent symptoms, and his body's war on food, but she refuted the best she could as a sniper. She felt his symptoms would vary with his temperature, and his digestion was separate.

Ed entered the dorm and held the door for them before declaring a loud, "Ah! You never truly appreciate cheap poorly furnished military dorms, until they're taken away from you." Ed gave an elaborate stretch and went to the refrigerator. "Alphonse, what new foods do you have?" Taking inventory he was counting and tapping containers.

Hawkeye slipped out of her light jacket and took a seat at the Elric kitchen counter.

Alphonse had been turning her ideas into elaborate equations she didn't understand. They were foreign to her the way her counter-sniper tactics were foreign to him. She wasn't a chemist, and alchemy required a lot of chemistry. When Roy was younger and studying under her father he poured through books with her father scolding him mercilessly for not learning accurately or fast enough. In order to perform alchemy, you needed an acute understanding of subjects others committed their entire lives to. Yet in the kitchen, Alphonse was building them with the comfortable amusement of one doing a Sunday crossword puzzle

"Nii-san!" Alphonse ran to the refrigerator door and leaned in alongside Ed. "I can have parmesan cheese, and mushrooms." He pointed to two containers before to the bathroom door. "But I want you to go shower, you smell like a convict. Leave dinner to us."

"Cheese?" Ed asked, with a bit of alarm. "You started the dairy food group without me?"

"I can smell the bars of your cell, the thin human-worn cot you were sleeping on," Alphonse was counting off his fingers, "the sweat thick air you were kept in…"

Ed rolled his eyes and shut the refrigerator. Advised them he was leaving to shower, and Hawkeye startled when Alphonse turned on her seconds after Ed shut himself in the bathroom.

Suddenly, it was obvious Alphonse had deliberately removed Ed from the room.

"Nii-san, may not understand our hypothesis," Alphonse whispered quickly. Hawkeye was not surprised considering how well Roy had taken to it. "Until I have more extensive data I think," Alphonse paused looking uncomfortable, "I need something incredibly conclusive to show him. He's not going to receive my results well, so I think…" Alphonse paused again, and Hawkeye waited as he struggled with his mouth as if losing function. Licked his lips quickly, the way Ed did, and confessed, "I think we shouldn't tell him."

"Why?" Hawkeye was shocked. "He can probably help us." She wasn't expecting Ed's alchemist brain to accept it kindly, but Roy had come around. She had a certain expectant faith Ed would listen to Alphonse with the devotion Alphonse listened to Ed, but suddenly, she worried that was not true. _Was there a clear alpha?_

Alphonse shook his head nervously. "I haven't completed enough experimentation to appear well founded yet. I don't know what to say."

"Alphonse, you don't really have a lot of time." Hawkeye was flabbergasted. "Why do you need to know what to say?" She hadn't known what to say. "He only wants to help you, he'll hear you out. Both of you working on this will be much better than only one." Alphonse shook his head again, looking troubled with her insistence, and she returned to a disbelieving, "Why?"

"It's not going to be easy for Nii-san the way you think it will be," Alphonse said sadly. "He's going to see it…a different way. So I need to be ready. I want to tell him. Really really want to tell him." Alphonse looked crushed. "But I need to be ready."

"I don't understand."

"Nii-san needs to be relaxed right now. He doesn't need to keep worrying about me."

"He's not going to stop just because you hide information from him," Hawkeye said, keeping her voice an equivocal whisper. "That will make things worse."

As if on cue, Ed exited the bathroom and looked to move toward the bedroom, before deviating to approach them with a friendly, "Whatever you guys want to eat tonight is fine by me. I've been stuck on cafeteria rations." Freeing his hair from his braid Ed was actively gathering it into a pony tail. Ever observant, he understood immediately they were in conversation. Recognized that conversation to be discrete, and teased a playful, "What are we talking about?"

Alphonse spun to face Ed, looking guilty, and firming his lips in an attempt to lock back the confession that so obviously wanted to spill.

"Want me to wait?" Ed asked kindly. Alphonse was ramrod straight. Hesitating with indecision. "Want to tell me later?" Ed was trying and Alphonse couldn't handle it.

"Nii-san!" It came out in one breath. "I have some theories about what might be wrong with me!"

Ed's eyebrows shot up with excitement. "That's great!"

"The one I think is most certain you're not going to believe."

"Why?" Ed's excitement became an immediate frown.

Alphonse moved to the counter, and slid his open notebook to Ed when he took a seat. The pages were filled with tiny pencil equations and diagrams. "Look at my notes and tell me what you think," Alphonse said, anxiety dissolving. He was proud of his work, and Hawkeye smiled when Alphonse ran a pointing finger over the scribbles showing Ed where to look. "This page is my summary."

Ed went silent, reading, before poking his metal finger down on the sixth line. "You're chemical formula is wrong." Ed looked up. "Give me a pencil." Alphonse leaned over Ed's shoulder to see, and Ed gave a humored older-sibling chuckle. "That's probably why you thought I wouldn't believe it, because it's not working right."

Alphonse shook his head. "No, I did that on purpose. Leave it like that."

"But it's wrong." Ed was confusion. "You need to fix it, Al. Or you won't be able to properly calculate going forward." Ed reached for Alphonse's discarded pencil, and Alphonse snapped his notebook away.

"I want to keep it like that, Nii-san, don't change it," Alphonse said, curt with anger.

Ed gave Alphonse a heavy sigh and slid the pencil behind his ear. Sounding unimpressed Ed said, "Okay." He extended his hand. "We'll work with an incorrect formula." Alphonse returned the book, but Ed made it only two more lines before frowning. "Alphonse, what the heck are you doing?" Ed's tone was disapproval. "This formula is wrong too, and these degrees you're using are all messed up."

"I know!" Alphonse said quickly.

"If you know, why don't you fix them?" Ed's tone of mild annoyance cradled a center of distress. As if looking at incorrect equations hurt. That enduring them broken was torment, and Ed asked, "Can we fix them, please?"

Alphonse shook his head. "No, Nii-san." Tone firm. "You're going to have to read it with them broken and work like that."

"But I am reading nonsense!" Ed complained. "You don't calculate human data, with animal metrics. Where did you even get these figures? I can't be expected to review something like this! The cellular anatomy is going to start directly conflicting with the rest of your numbers."

"Is that really what the great Fullmetal Alchemist has to say!" Alphonse chastised, slapping the notebook back to the counter, and giving Ed a tiny coercing shove.

Ed returned his posture to study the notebook, brow heavy with a frown. "You're making this personal." Angry, he ripped fresh sheet of paper from the back of the book and took the pencil from his ear, taunting, "Fine. We'll get serious then." Began his own set of equations, and speaking to the page as he wrote asked, "Is it sexist if I ask you for coffee, Lieutenant?"

Hawkeye watched Ed's pencil move at the speed of light. "Maybe not if you said, would you mind making me a cup of coffee, please," Hawkeye said kindly.

Ed grunted to the paper and kept working, before mumbling, "Would you mind making me a cup of coffee, please?"

Hawkeye didn't just make coffee. She made spaghetti and red sauce, coffee, and sautéed mushrooms sprinkled with parmesan cheese. Alphonse ate slowly looking extremely pleased, and Ed continued making equations with an empty coffee cup and untouched bowl of pasta.

Once calculating Ed didn't engage in conversation or acknowledge his surroundings. Alphonse was assimilated to this behavior, and chatted with Hawkeye, helped clean up, and took a call from Fuery. He'd been unable to join them earlier, was naturally social, and spoke to Hawkeye as well. Before Ed finished Alphonse had time to change into pajamas, reheat Ed's spaghetti, an d sit waiting at Ed's side before Ed uprooted with a satisfied, "Okay."

Ed lifted his paper and held it up alongside Alphonse's book. "Now tell me why I'm calculating the thermoregulation data of a small dog."

Alphonse snatched Ed's page with a look of insult. "That's not a small dog," he said angrily. "That's me." Ed didn't respond to this nonsensical statement, and Alphonse straightened Ed's work with a snap and began reading, with a miserable, "This is my data, Nii-san."

Ed began the soft confused laugh of someone being told a hole-ridden joke. "What?"

"This is my data," Alphonse said, sternly. "I am hypothermic. My hypothalamus is a mess!"

"What?" Ed repeated, giving a quick grunt of disbelief. He sat Alphonse's notebook down. "Al, you're really misinterpreting this. First off, this can't be your data, and secondly, the human hypothalamus is subject to our homeostasis, what are you talking about?" As the only soldier in the room, Alphonse had explained to Hawkeye that the hypothalamus was the portion of the brain acting as the boy's thermostat, and that homeostasis was the state of stability between the internal and external environment, something Alphonse said the human body did instinctively to balance its temperature. While Alphonse at first thought her theory was wrong, because his body was functioning, and therefore enacting all basic functions, it became clearer that although functioning, it was not timely.

"Nii-san," Alphonse lowered Ed's work with an expression of annoyance. "We're not going to be able to have this conversation if you don't stop contradicting me." Ed began tapping his automail index finger with annoyance. "Also, if you don't talk to me like another member of the scientific community, you won't be able to hear what I am saying."

"I can't begin to interpret what you're saying, Alphonse, because your data is inaccurate, and your primary formula is knowingly wrong."

Alphonse sat Ed's work on the counter with a discouraged sigh, and said, "I felt better in the hospital."

Alphonse's confession had the effect of a slap, and speechless Ed slowly leaned back. Gaze trained on Alphonse with disbelief.

"In there," Alphonse said. "I felt better than I ever have." Hawkeye believed this had to do with the hospital maintaining a minimum temperature of seventy-five degrees. This made it likely Alphonse's hospital room was closer to seventy-eight or higher when receiving sun. "I need to figure this out." Alphonse turned to Ed, with a bit of accusation. "I need to get better!"

Ed was stone silent. Alphonse's confession he preferred the robbing hospital that kidnapped him and caused Ed's arrest was a bowling ball to Ed's stomach. He was mute with uncertain skepticism Alphonse meant what he was saying.

"My recovery is the most important thing to me right now, Nii-san."

"It's important to me too," Ed said defensively. "Alphonse, I am doing everything I can."

"Well, you're not doing this!"

"I am not doing what!"

"You're criticizing my stuff instead of listening to what I am trying to say to you!"

"Alphonse!" Ed was angry. Uncharacteristically a tone of real resenting agitation popped in his voice, and Hawkeye was surprised. She had never seen the brothers argue, and it escalated quickly. "You're suggesting to me you are hypothermic, when that is impossible!" Hawkeye heard Roy's words ring through her head. "You're in a temperature controlled environment!" Ed's eyes were darting quickly, frantically, with staggering thought and analysis, and beneath it, his expression was crumbling from solid confidence to something very close to fear. "What about everyone else! Living here without a problem!"

"Those humans don't have new bodies!" Alphonse screamed.

"That doesn't make you right!" Ed leapt off his stool and grabbed Alphonse's shoulders. "I want to help you get better too, but we have to be serious about this, and we have to stick to the facts."

"I am sticking to the facts! These are the facts! Don't tell me you can't see it!"

"Your calculations are more appropriate for a lean hundred pound dog, and that's not a person!"

Angrily Alphonse tried to shove out of Ed's hold, and yelled, "That's why I am sick!"

Ed shook his head. "I brought you back right!" he cried, voice deflating with his body to a sad beggar's grasp on Alphonse's arms. "Don't do this to me," Ed said softly, falling perfectly still. "Don't add one more torture. _"_ Alphonse felt the bruising strength in Ed's hands wilt into depression, and fell silent. "You can't be hypothermic _."_ Ed sounded utterly lost. "How." So utterly lost. "How could I have missed it?"

* * *

While trying to do one thing, work on the Annual Arsenal report, a massive project, Mustang found himself actually double checking and confirming ammunition orders for their Eastern bases. Something purchasing and financing should have already done.

While double checking figures from the East and North he received a call from the West Wing's fifth hall informing him documentation on one of his men had been delivered. While the receptionist was vague, unable to identify what was in the sealed manila folder she received, Mustang did. It was Ed's military psychological evaluation, and he planned to receive it before Ed could.

Deliberately that morning, he had sabotaged any hope Ed might do so, and although this made him appear nosey, or perhaps pushy, or perhaps just imperious, he was not.

He did so at Hawkeye's request.

While adding massive numbers of ammunition, and common stock Mustang called Hawkeye, on the ninth laboratory floor.

She was not working, of this he was certain. She had come in and out quickly that morning. Delivered him a large coffee with significantly less whipped cream, and a long pointed stare, and that look made things clear: _I am not working, and you know I am not working, but this is me telling you, and this is you allowing that._ She was consumed in Alphonse's pet science project, and while this promised to mount the piles, and back up the phone calls, for the moment, the house of cards would stand. She did not shirk responsibilities easily, or commonly, and this meant that what she was doing she found more important than work, and putting aside her weapons, Roy wasn't exactly sure what type of category could rival her ethical dedication to the country. So whatever it was, he planned not to interfere until it became interfering.

Hawkeye answered the call to the ninth floor lab with a simple, "Lab B4."

"It's me," Roy said, calculating his math longhand. He did this with a combined sense of embarrassed resignation. He had gone into the military, not decided to be a mathematician. "The West Five called."

"Oh good," she said, voice rushed and busy. "I'll come right down."

"Okay." Roy hung up and continued working. He managed two more columns of sums before she arrived. She opened the door and then stood holding it impatiently. They took the elevator together and walked through the West halls with barely any chatter. They enjoyed the temporary respite of each other's company, and although he was curious to her new hobby, and he knew she was concerned about the office in her absence, they were silent until they approached the reception counter, and greeted the young female soldier there.

Roy ordered the retrieval of Edward Elric's documents as Elric's commanding officer, and the young girl left for them. Playfully Roy gave Hawkeye his first smile, and said, "I feel like I have numbers coming out my ears."

"Where is Ed?" Hawkeye asked, looking confused. Shouldn't the boy be stomping along demanding documents with his name be given to him, and accusing them of being prying spies?

"Home," Roy said simply. "Moving."

Yes, Ed had to uproot his dorm and move to his new one. This would have been an easy task for any normal soldier: Toss some things in a box, grab a pizza, unpack by dumping most items into piles on the floor, and sleep on top of your bare mattress in clothing, but this was Ed.

"You would think the break to task-oriented manual labor would be tranquil for him," Roy said, accepting the sealed manila folder. "But this is Fullmetal we're talking about." He gave a heavy sigh and ripped the top off the envelope. He left it behind on the reception desk. "So he's complicating things as usual."

Ed was incredibly paranoid about moving Alphonse into an unknown environment, and Hawkeye said he responded poorly to the direction the committee wanted this done immediately. Roy understood, _responded poorly_ , to be, _had a fucking fit_ , according to Havoc. To make matters worse Hawkeye had given Ed this instruction in front of Major Armstrong, and the man was adamant he could help Ed move.

Ed had requested permission to go to his new two bedroom dorm immediately and Roy had approved it. He did this because Ed looked as if he would pop if he wasn't allowed to do so, but it later worked out in his favor. Ed had called Roy from the new dorm to express how unfit it was, and how much time he would need to prepare it, and Roy felt karma arrive.

Ed was so distracted with creating a stable place for Alphonse to transition to, it had not occurred to him the results of his second evaluation, Alphonse's evaluation, and Alphonse's physical would be coming in. So Roy had given Ed the day off. Graciously approving whatever Ed needed. _What a morning it had been._

"What are we going to tell Ed about this report?" Hawkeye asked, sliding the thin packet from the folder and flipping into the second page.

"We?" Roy teased. "I was going to tell him you hit me and took it." Hawkeye laughed into the page she was reading. "And I think we'll have to make that call after we know what it says."

Unlike the first report, generated for the appeal of which Ed was privy, the second report was above Ed's scope of command. The military owned a certain part of you as a state alchemist, and that part was more or less all of you. Ed's military acquired mental health information was disclosed to him only if the military approved it, and therefore, Ed could technically not open his evaluation unless Roy authorized it.

In what Roy deemed an astute judgment call of little faith, he was intercepting, because he believed if things were listed poorly, Ed would rip the report to shreds, and reproducing and requiring would be a pain. Privately, he had long ago titled this, Elric-insurance: avoiding a high cost with a little use of policy.

Hawkeye was scanning through the first page at the speed of light, and did so while walking. Roy led them up a floor and over to information. They needed an office to hide in, and Sheska's seemed as good a spot as any. The mousy girl was hardly in it as she resigned over Record's Reception, and they were on friendly enough terms their discovery there would not concern her. What they needed was a place they could hide, where no one would look for them, and no one public would arrive.

Sheska's office turned out to be the worst place to have gone.

"Oh my gosh!" Sheska cried on sight of them. They stepped into her office together. "This is too much, you guys too!"

Roy stopped walking after opening her office door and finding it crowded with several employees, Major Armstrong, Falman, and Havoc. _They couldn't have gotten closer to their own Unit if they tried._

Hawkeye slid Ed's report back into the manila envelope with as much stealth as possible and gave Sheska a polite, albeit confused, smile, but it was obvious. Streamers and single balloon decorated the office poorly and christened a single serving cake.

"I can't believe even Colonel Mustang remembered my birthday!" Sheska said, holding her cheek and blushing with excitement. "Maybe I've misjudged you, Colonel!" Several of the young girls from Data Analysis were crowding Sheska's cake and they shared fast whispers and excitement the great Flame Alchemist was gracing them with their presence.

Hawkeye called girls like this, nit-wits, and the only female officer in the room, the Pointed Blade Alchemist, a bitch. Since Hawkeye did not call many women this, Roy had taken strong note.

"Happy birthday!" Hawkeye said quickly, walking to Havoc's side and giving him an elbow in the ribs.

"We looked everywhere for you two," Falman whispered, wearing a crooked party hat.

"We came without you when you didn't turn up." Havoc shrugged elaborately.

"When did we know it was her birthday?" Roy asked, feeling blindsided. He took a glance around and it looked as if they were now required to stay until the singing was over.

"This morning," Havoc said, looking apologetic. "Fuery heard from the squad downstairs because Sheska's good friends with the sniper on that squad, and he's taking her out with a group this weekend. He invited Fuery, Fuery told me, I looked for you, and then we just forged both your names on a card." Havoc was holding a noise maker and he sat it in his lips beginning to laugh. "I signed Ed and Al in there too, but I wrote, have a sexy birthday, love, your Fullmetal Alchemist." Havoc thought this was funny and laughed at his own joke.

Sounding exhausted, Hawkeye asked, "Why would you do that."

"Hey, what the hell, you know?" Havoc said, shrugging to himself. "He's been having a rough time of it. This ought to shake it back in the right direction." Havoc gave the noise maker an obnoxious blow when two of the Data Analyst girls did so. "Chasing chicks and not dicks, right?" Havoc asked, directing the joke to Fuery who came in, greeted Sheska loudly, and then joined in on the laughs as they waited for the celebration to begin and end.

It was abhorrent.

They waited for the chatty girls from Accounting to arrive, all of which ran in and gave Sheska hugs. Breda was late, and he came in singing, For She's A Jolly Good Fellow, frightfully off tune with three of the younger crowd from maintenance, before they sang Happy Birthday in the polite communal tone offices always did. Hawkeye had tucked Ed's folder beneath her arm unnoticed.

Sheska was thrilled, she passed out slivers of cake, they ate, and then dispersed.

The week was becoming more and more complicated. Creta had opened fire on their border when the Lieutenant leading it deliberately parked ammunition transportation several feet over the border line. Relations with Creta were not dicey, and this appeared a child's prank. The distance between their fort and Creta's was a meager five football fields, and the troops often pulled, what Hawkeye called, Shenanigans, on each other. This one just happened to result in the release of a common, relatively harmless F-54c missile.

Being bombed created lots of paperwork, and no one was happy. Roy could feel both Breda and Fuery becoming annoyed the suggestion of the Western bombing might result in a long night and he did his best to ignore it. He ordered them to follow procedure and contact Western Command to offer aide and seek out directions. With this request Havoc stopped chewing the pen that was half out of his mouth and lifted an eyebrow. As the Colonel, he was the one who typically sought out their directions, but for the moment, all he wanted to do was stow away and read a few pieces of paper. When he entered his office he did not return to his desk.

"Sir," Breda was complaining. The man went to his desk and slouched into it with annoyance. "I doubt anyone even died in this. You know Creta was just blasting the trucks." Hawkeye left the office, and her absence made Roy itch to follow.

"Let's not take casualties so lightly," Roy said. He knew what this was really about: _Friday Night._ Yes, everyone had plans for this week's Friday night, and no one wanted to be in office late working on what Creta was or wasn't doing when they hadn't had military qualms with them in ten years. "I will be right back," Roy said, adding a firm tone of agitation to his voice. He shut the door roughly behind him, and was expecting Hawkeye to be in the hall but it was vacant. Clueless, he checked the break room and then the copy room and found her inside holding the folder. "You waited?" Roy asked.

The copy room was small. A narrow desk with paper supplies had been pushed up alongside the machine itself. A fat bulky thing made with basic engineering and alchemy. It worked, but it produced poor grayscale images of what you put inside, so unless your reports had lots of handwritten columns, people did not copy things, they wrote them again.

"What do you mean, did I wait?" Hawkeye asked, looking confused. She offered the folder, and Roy took it. "I'm not going to read the entire thing."

Roy slid Ed's report from the envelope feeling shocked. "That really defeats the sport of sneaking around like this with me." He gave her a grin. "When else do we get to be so covert on a Wednesday Lieutenant?"

Hawkeye pinched her lips into a tight repressed smile and gave him an appreciative look that said: _yes, you're funny._

Roy flipped open Ed's report and it was immediately recognizable as a state document. While Ms. Sander's report had been intimate, with a formal outline and professional summary of her evaluation and results, this was in the form of a military interrogation. Ed's report listed the date, time, questions he was asked, and his responses word for word. It was a true report the way a soldier would want to review it, with the facts black and white. _What were you asked, and how you answered._ None of this interpretive mumbo-jumbo because we wanted to interpret for ourselves by reading the dialogue and then glancing at the summary. The military provided this on page nine, after eight pages of questions.

"I glanced at it," Hawkeye confessed, with Roy scanning through the pages.

"I wouldn't have stolen it with you if I had concerns about you reading it," Roy said dryly, running over page two.

"This is way outside of my jurisdiction," Hawkeye said, sounding troubled with their snooping.

"Oh ho," Roy said, breaking a quick laugh. "He's still a virgin," he said, reading quickly. Hawkeye reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Sir, please."

"I would have thought for sure by now."

"Sir."

"He travels all over, and come on, Hawkeye," Roy said, chuckling. "Think about how many fine ladies want the mighty Flame Alchemist to light them on fire, Ed probably has his own Fullmetal Alchemist groupies who'd like to," he teased, "play with his metal?" Hawkeye exhaled a brief sigh and dropped her hand with an unimpressed stare.

"I am worried about him as a person. I don't want to violate his private business, Roy." Roy felt his comedy die the minute she used his first name. "Edward isn't twelve anymore." Hawkeye said, letting her voice fade to a sad whisper. She looked guilty with their actions, and as if something she was hoping would bring her relief, instead brought her more worry.

"How's everything going with Alphonse?" Roy asked, tone serious.

"It's going okay, but things are strained for them at home. Alphonse is struggling to recover from illness, and Ed is," she paused for a moment, "struggling to recover from shame." Roy gave a slow understanding nod. The sense of feeling ashamed of what you had done was not foreign. "He improved," Hawkeye said, indicating the report with a brief point. "Ed's answers are stronger than those he gave us in the beginning, and most likely better than what he gave Carol."

"I would hope so," Roy said, reading steadily.

The military was sterile with their investigation. With unwavering curiosity they fired off questions they wanted the answers to. _Are you happy as a soldier? Do you think about injuring yourself? Do you think about injuring others?_ They were everywhere, investigating what the military found to be Ed's mental health as a soldier to what he might be like personally, and they did so boldly. "How much of this did you read?" Roy asked, flipping through the fifth and sixth page.

"I scanned it," Hawkeye repeated, sounding vague on purpose.

"They flat out asked him about Alphonse, did you see that?" Roy asked, reading over the question a second time with a bit of shock. _Have you ever had sex with your brother?_ It was black and white, the military was not messing around. The answer was either yes or no. Hawkeye was silent. "I didn't imagine it would be this…" he trailed off, seeking the right word. _Have you ever solicited your bother to have sex or engage in a sexual act? Have you ever stated to any party engaging in such an activity would be desirable to you._

"Hostile?" Hawkeye suggested. Roy stopped reading and gave a heavy sign. The committee had taken Ed directly for his evaluation, and with work, and their evening celebration, he had not had a chance to hold a private and serious conversation with Ed since. If Ed had concerns some of his character was under suspicious scrutiny, this type of questioning was more than enough to alarm you. "They asked him what he thought might happen if the military found out he was being dishonest and he was engaging in abuse of a minor while on base, or incestuous behavior," Hawkeye said, still sounding sad. "He said, he thought he would be imprisoned, and do you know what they said?"

Roy did not. He had scanned through quickly, discovering general questions on page one, and then stopping periodically where things stood out to him. He could only imagine what the military had said. Amestris was not tolerant inside the ranks. The blooming alchemic skill kept competition high, and judgment higher.

"They said they would ensure he never could again," Hawkeye said, appalled. She had stepped back and leaned into the copier while Roy was reading, and with this she stepped up. "What does that mean?" she asked, with a bit of disgust. "They were threatening him. When he is not convicted guilty, when these are unfounded charges, they threatened him the same way you would a guilty party."

"It's an act that won't be tolerated." Roy felt those words leap from his mouth before he could stop himself. It was his soldier side, his instinctive military-branded response, and Hawkeye recoiled as if she'd lost him for a poster child.

Gave him a filthy look and said, "Don't give me that crap." She moved on. "I've been spending time there, and Ed is not in a good place with all of this. I think it's causing him to question his own self-worth, and that's crazy when you consider what he's capable of." Roy did not admit this was true, and that Ed had openly confessed he feared he'd be identified as both a bad guardian, and worse, a bad brother to Alphonse. Somehow Hawkeye was figuring this out on her own, and she was judicious. "Alphonse is worried about him."

"Alphonse is always worried about him." Roy tried to lighten the mood.

Hawkeye's expression was dark with sympathy. Her eyes were becoming increasingly worried, but it wasn't until she kept her gaze dead on Roy that he realized there was more inside her than that. She was speaking to him, from her eyes. Begging him, and maybe she didn't know she was doing it, and maybe she did. She wanted him to help, how he wasn't sure, when he didn't know, who, he was certain. She wanted him to help Ed, the same way she wanted him to assign the men lunch tables when Ed was brought onboard.

Somehow the act of watching a small twelve-year -old weed through a cafeteria of tight knit laughing talking soldiers was too much for her. Ed was half their height, and would politely go about getting his lunch before struggling to find a place to sit because the soldiers were uncomfortable with him. Didn't know what to make of him. He was twelve, and they were enjoying healthy lunch conversation full of profanity, crude humor, sexual references, and things that made good men, even while so young, want to censure children. With Ed doing nothing more than trying to sit and eat, he was causing a ruckus, and Hawkeye couldn't stand it. _You know assigned seating might help,_ she had said, looking at Roy the same way she was now. _That way everyone would know where to go._

"What did he say?" Roy asked. He didn't want to read the report anymore. Hearing it from her was worse, but somehow also better.

"What?"

"What did Ed say, in response to their threat?"

"He said, yes." Hawkeye gave a deep enduring breath, and nodding slightly, repeated, "He said, yes, I understand."

Roy was stunned with Ed's sterile acceptance and courage. He didn't know how to interpret the threat, the military could mean it one of three ways: a threat on Ed's wellbeing, Alphonse's wellbeing, or Ed's physical body. It gave no discriminating hint, but Roy wouldn't take any of them off the field as a possibility. To be in Ed's place and have this openly addressed was powerful. The military was telling him they would cut his hand if he stepped out of line.

"I think you should talk to him," Hawkeye said, giving a small guilt ridden shrug. _How long could we keep playing the guiding male role model?_ "He is going to take off his arm."

"What!"

Hawkeye jutted her chin toward the report. "He was clever." Her tone was brittle with sympathy. "He told the interrogator he was right handed, and therefore, believed he might be unintentionally injuring Alphonse with the automail arm because it's cumbersome." Roy was shocked Ed would describe his arm so inaccurately, and his jaw dropped. Hawkeye nodded with like understanding because they both recognized the outrageous lie.

"But he's not right handed."

"The interrogator knew that as well," Hawkeye said. "He openly confronted Ed with his military file reporting he is ambidextrous, but Ed said that was a lie, that he was worried about the military thinking less of him when he joined, and he was actually right handed, and that his mechanic would vouch for that." Roy felt like the world temporarily existed in the copy room. The walls felt close, and office miles away. For a moment there was nothing but Hawkeye's soft speaking voice painting a wealth of information. "He said although he would never intentionally hurt Alphonse, he might accidentally hurt him with the metal arm. Sir, he played with his words to confess to technically nothing, while offering a distracting trade. He says he will have his arm removed until his charges are dropped."

Hawkeye looked horrified with this because she was there when Scar blew Ed's arm to shambles and nearly killed him. It didn't matter that the arm was metal, the act was vicious and meant for flesh. At the time, as long as Ed wasn't bleeding-out Roy's attention was on Scar, and it wasn't until he accidentally noticed Hawkeye approaching Ed, while surveying Scar's escape route with Havoc, that he realized what truly happened.

Ed had part of his body blown off.

Yes, the arm was a prosthetic, but it was plugged into Ed's real self, and Ed's mind believed it was part of him. With intent to murder, Scar as a violent adult male, had grabbed Ed's much younger and weaker body, and tried to kill it. All he succeeded in accomplishing before they arrived, was the destruction of what looked to them to be a fake arm, but Hawkeye had gone crunching over the bits and pieces of it, and knelt at Ed's side. Had stripped her uniform top off and blanketed it over Ed, and Roy had seen her smile, it was the calm thankful smile you gave a soldier whose wound was a moment ago gushing blood, but who now appeared to be pulling through.

Ed had kept himself composed for the men, the scene, his commanding officer, and even her the First Lieutenant. He had stood up, spoken to some of them, and climbed into the car Roy provided. It wasn't until all four of them were riding back to Central Command, perched together in the two back seats, that Ed suddenly began hyperventilating in delayed panic and shock. He had frantically grabbed at his shoulder socket before turning to Alphonse, and hugging the armor's battered shell.

On that day Roy was not familiar with Ed's medical file, but after leaving the crime scene chaos still wet from the rain, he made mental note to become familiar with it when he thought Ed was suddenly having an asthma attack.

It was Hawkeye who had recognized the truth of what was happening, and slid to the edge of her chair to help. Without a word, she adjusted the top of her uniform higher on Ed's shoulders to politely cover his face, and said, "You're feeling the effects of a close call on your body Ed. In a moment it will pass." Her tone was soft enough the rain against the windows almost smothered it.

Ed had pulled away from them, desperately clutching Alphonse's broken side with the armor unable to respond with its only arm on the other side of the car, but Hawkeye had been right. All Ed needed was time. The boy hid inside her jacket, curled up, and huddled to Alphonse's side calming himself down. By the time they arrived at Central Command, Ed was the same composed person he'd been at the scene, and this did not go unnoticed by the soldiers.

Later Roy had learned, as he reviewed Ed's medical file with people collecting in his office like curious bystanders to a terrible accident, that Ed's arm was not meant to come in and out commonly. In fact Automail, at the ports, was meant to stay plugged in. Changing what an appendage looked like while adhered was no big deal. If Ed wanted he could switch his wrist out for a different hand, or even his forearm for a different elbow, because the shoulder port stayed in place. So having the arm blown off had not been a lucky break, the way a soldier takes a bullet in the helmet and celebrates, it had been a violent grenade action for Ed. The missing arm was painful, and Ed hated the handicap. This memory was clear. Ed had called his mechanic immediately and scheduled to leave, but while in wait was quiet and subdued, as if he'd been stripped and sent in naked.

It wasn't shame, but it was vulnerability, and since that day Roy had not seen Ed without the limbs. He knew if Ed had a say in the matter he kept them, and unless absolutely necessary, they were not removed. So offering them now, and volunteering to elect such a handicap was a powerful suggestion, and powerful distraction and truce to the military.

 _Do you think I am hurting my brother? Maybe I am, accidentally, with the metal arm. So I'll take it off, and we all feel better._

* * *

Hello, hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Honestly I haven't read this story in so long, I'm surprised each biweekly chapter I read! It's not that I've forgotten anything, but it's been a while since I've seen it.

Please leave a review, and give me your thoughts. I think Alphonse is such a cutie pie trying to show his older brother his scientific notes.

Chapter 10: _Fate of the Agreeing_ , will be posted May 5, 2017.

Hope to see you there.


	12. Fate of the Agreeing

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Board of Squares  
Chapter Eleven  
 _Fate of the Agreeing_

\- mirage–

Ed's report kept Roy unsettled until he left the office. He had stuffed it back into the envelope with Hawkeye and told himself he wasn't going to read anymore of it. Ten minutes later he was at his desk combing through it.

Ed's answers were perfunctory riddles, and without Ed in his charge for years Mustang would have found himself baffled as to whether the boy was deliberately trying to stick it to them, or absolutely insane. Instead, he knew Ed was being honest, and that was more worrisome than either. That Ed was nervous enough he would be honest, was powerful.

 _Are you happy as a soldier?_ Ed said he was. _Do you ever have thoughts of injuring yourself?_ Ed said he did not. _Have you ever had sex with a woman?_ No. _Are you attracted to women?_ Yes. _Do you want to have sex with a woman?_ Yes. _If you had the chance to, would you?_ Yes. _How would you feel about having sex with a male?_ There was no desire. _Do you deny sexual allegations you have an incestuous relationship with your brother?_ Yes. _Have you ever had sex with your brother?_ No.

Roy stopped outside the new Elric dorm and studied the open mist smoking doorway with a sense of exhaustion. He had carried the scrap of paper listing Ed's new dorm number from the car, but now, he considered how appropriate it seemed that Ed's dorm was unable to healthily blend in.

Leaking enough steam to set off the suspiciously disconnected hall fire alarms, Roy ducked under the bulk of the cloud and stepped into the sauna like apartment.

Inside everything was wet, as if a full blast pressure hose had sprayed over everything. The water was unnatural for indoors, dripping down the walls, collecting in the baseboards rivets, and sopping all available surfaces and ledges so everything was being damaged.

Roy stepped in, squishing through the puddle filled floors, and waving steam from his face. Empty of furniture the vacant living room had a dry transmutation circle, and kneeling in the center of it was Ed. He was difficult to make out in the mist, and nothing but the strong black of his pants, and bright color of his hair was coming through the haze, until he clapped.

With the spark of a new transmutation, the water beneath Roy's feet ran violently to Ed and solidified into a briefcase ice sculpture. Roy looked at this with confusion before Ed stood up and startled on sight of him.

Ed's calm expression sunk into one of annoyed accusation, and he chastized, "Geez, don't sneak up like that."

"I walked in your open front door."

"Could have knocked."

Ed picked up the ice briefcase and left to the apartment's first bedroom. All doors and windows in the apartment were open, including the cabinets and refrigerator. Ed was in bare feet without his jackets, and with his pants rolled up to his knees. Casually he leaned out the open bedroom window to survey down below, before tossing the briefcase out. "It's like a swamp in here!" Ed called, returning to the living room and heading past Roy. "But this place was really disgusting. You wouldn't believe how much dirt and dust I found." Ed bent down and made two more ice briefcases. His transmutations were sucking up the water and freezing it into easily disposable shapes.

Roy watched Ed blindly toss them out the window before asking, "Are there any pedestrians down below us?"

"No," Ed said, sounding certain. "And if there are, they're soldiers." This was probably true. "And soldiers need to learn to have better reflexes if they get hit with ice." Ed gave Roy a quick grin and left into his bathroom. Roy groaned. "I'm doing the military a favor!" Ed called, smile evident in his voice. "It's almost a free training exercise, I should bill for this!"

Roy decided to start slow. Standing in Ed's wet living room, he slid his hands into his pockets and took on a tone of casual chatter. "Did you have your evaluation yesterday?"

"Yeah!" Ed called. "Right after I left you!"

"And?" Roy was curious. What would Ed say about this? Would he openly admit to how he was drilled? Or feign that he wasn't bothered by it?

"And it's over!" Ed revealed nothing. Roy fell silent. "We had everything taken care of exactly how they asked!" Ed explained this quickly. "But, oh!" Then moved on. "Thanks for siccing the Major on me again!" Ed said sourly. He was scrubbing his bathroom sink as he spoke. "He carried almost every piece of furniture out of the dorm before I could tell him it was furnished and none of it was ours!" Roy laughed. "When we drove over here I stopped building maintenance from giving me anything, just so I could get rid of him! I needed to clean this rat's nest anyway, but the Major was persistent! Move your apartment and everyone wants to help, search for the Philosopher's stone, and everyone is too busy!" Ed finished his sink and Roy listened to the water run as Ed rinsed it before moving to his tub. "How's your Arsenal report!"

"Relentless," Roy said angrily. Ed laughed.

Roy heard Ed wedge his bathroom window up as high as it would go. There was a transmutation and something was tossed out before Roy opened a new topic. "Ed, Alphonse says he refuses to leave your old dorm." This was why he had decided to drop by. It wasn't the unsettling execution of Ed's report, it was the fact that Ed had separated himself from Alphonse and devoted himself to the new apartment. "Why aren't you with your basket case brother?" he asked, teasing dryly.

Roy had verified Alphonse's completion of his physical and psychological evaluation, as Ed said, but those reports were left unopened. _Alphonse wasn't his charge._

Ed was silent, and Roy could hear vicious scrubbing. "Is it true he won't leave the old dorm?" Roy asked. Ed didn't answer, and Roy waited for some type of response. Ed was in the process of cleaning his tub, and it took almost four minutes before Ed returned to the water stained living room with a rag.

"I can't make Alphonse do things, Roy," Ed said, sounding annoyed.

Roy nodded. "Obviously." Ed's tired stare tightened with irritation. "But for other evident reasons he needs to leave it." Ed used his clean wrist to brush his bangs from his face. "Does he understand your appeal rests on your compliance with the committee's requests?" Roy asked, certain Alphonse did not. That somehow the boy confused himself, or perhaps found something shinny and was in his old bedroom with wide happy eyes smiling up to the vacant ceiling.

"Yes."

Roy didn't know what to make of this. "He understands you need to move immediately into the two bedroom, but he's refusing?" Roy asked, with disbelief.

Looking miserable repeating himself, Ed gave a nod, and said, "Yes."

Roy took his hands from his pockets with a bit of shock. "Ed, does he not understand what that means?"

"He understands."

"Well, does he not care!" Roy snapped, instantly regretting his words when Ed's expression flinched with the verbal slap. It was nothing more than a small twitch of Ed's right eye and quick tensing of his lips, but the reaction meant Ed's response was so strong he could not keep it hidden. Roy tried to move on. "I don't care what he thinks he's doing, having you branded some type of incestuous pedophile is going to be incredibly damaging to the office routine," Roy said, with all seriousness, before adding, "I can't be expected to do all the Alchemy work."

Ed tossed the rag to the dripping kitchen counter and walked to the refrigerator without commenting. He looked it over before sparking a transmutation that left it glimmering as if brand new.

"Do you want me to order him out of it?" Roy asked. "Is he just confused with the situation?"

Ed was considering his oven for a similar transmutation, but stopped when this was asked. Looking almost hideously angry he turned to Roy, and in a low curt voice, said, "Alphonse isn't stupid, Roy."

"His actions suggest otherwise."

Ed stood up and gave Roy his full attention. "What can I do for you, Colonel?" Ed asked, raising his voice slightly. "Is there something you need that you came here?"

Roy narrowed his gaze. "Yes, I need my subordinate to do what the hell he's told so he's not incarcerated for offensive sexual acts."

Ed was more than agitated with this. He took a quick cleansing breath with his hands clenching to fists before saying, "He just wants to stay for a day or so longer, I'm going to report that we moved."

"So you're going to give false report to the committee doing you a favor, because Alphonse is refusing to vacate your old dorm?" Roy asked, mocking heavily with sarcasm. "And you're reporting this to me, your commanding officer, assuming that I will let you do this?" Ed's look of anger faded with a bit of shock Roy might pull rank. "I have news for you, Ed," Roy said angrily. "Tonight, Alphonse is moving out of that apartment. Tonight." Roy turned and began stomping for the door, but Ed ran after him.

Ed skirted around Roy like a child being left behind, and blocked Roy's path with his hands raised in surrender. "Okay, Roy, I see you're mad, but he just wants to stay for another day. I'm not taking this lightly, I swear."

"Are you out of your god damn mind?" Roy asked, lowering his voice. "Do you want to go back to that cell?" Ed looked stung with these words, and Roy stepped closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Be thankful, Ed. Be thankful the committee was kind to you. Be thankful they took one look at you and decided you weren't butt-fucking you kin, because this could have gone in a different direction. A _very_ different direction."

"I know that," Ed said quickly, looking worried. Worried out of his mind with the alternatives.

"Then, why?" Roy asked, completely at a loss. If Ed understood the threat, why would he risk it all so unnecessarily? "What is he doing?" Roy asked. _Just what was Alphonse doing?_ Ed gave his head a quick dismissive shake, but Roy wasn't about to let this slide so easily. These were the boys who committed mass taboo while still young enough to have a set bedtime. _You couldn't just let things slide when it came to the Elrics._ "Ed, what is he doing?" Roy asked, tone harsh and intolerant.

"I don't know," Ed confessed softly. Roy felt a hot swell in his fist, and it was the sensation of rage made to slug someone. For Ed to separate from Alphonse, after Alphonse was just physically and mentally examined, a traumatizing event for a boy scared of basic food and household items, and not know what Alphonse was doing, was inconceivable. It was against everything in Ed's character not to know where his hypochondriac younger sibling was, the same way it was against Alphonse's conscious not to know where Ed was. Roy was infuriated with such a bold face lie, before realizing, in the same moment his fist became warm, that Ed's sudden look of suffering made this real.

Ed didn't look confused with Alphonse's behavior, or worried about it, he looked crushed and absolutely destroyed with his own ignorance. "I don't know." Ed forced an elaborate shrug. "I don't know what he's doing. He won't tell me, and he won't talk to me."

"He won't talk to you?" Roy was shocked.

Ed shook his head viciously, as if admitting this were difficult. "No, he told me I wasn't understanding him, and he had to do what he's doing, and that was it. He kicked me out of our dorm." Roy felt a headache coming on. Everything with Ed was always an elaborate mess. _Could we not even move! Move dorms like a normal person!_ "And I don't know what to think," Ed said, tone changing from one of uncertainty to one of sad anger. "I mean," Ed cocked a weak smile masking sadness, "I mean, what should I think?" Ed gave another elaborate shrug. "That this is…that this is normal?" Ed tossed his hand to the side and took a step back. "How the fuck should I know? Who knows what they've been saying to him!" Roy didn't know how to catalog this statement. "Maybe he's starting to worry about what I've been doing. Maybe he's starting to worry it might be possible."

"Listen to yourself," Roy scolded. "That could hardly be the case."

"Then what is the case!" Ed yelled. "The case is that I have one brother! One brother, I'm accused of molesting, who at the moment has an extreme phobia of medical professionals, and for the time being is refusing to talk to me, and threw me out of my own place, after having both of his evaluations!"

Ed fired into the wet dorm in a quick fretting walk, and Roy was silent. He considered the information Ed shared, and how it fit together. It didn't make sense that Alphonse would do this, and if Alphonse really was sealing himself into isolation, they needed to intervene.

Ed was pacing viciously when Roy remembered Hawkeye's long pointed stare as she slipped from the office to the Lab Alphonse had been obsessing over. "Ed," Roy began curiously, realizing quickly that if Alphonse wasn't with Ed, it was probable Alphonse might be with Hawkeye, and if he had indeed barricaded himself in his dorm, than he had to ask… "Where is Hawkeye?"

Ed tipped his head back while pacing, and chuckled bitterly up to the ceiling. In a tone dripping with disgust he answered, "With Alphonse." Roy was shocked. Ed stopped walking and Roy didn't realize how loud Ed's automail stomping was until it ceased. Ed turned to Roy with an ugly furious smirk, and added, "Alphonse, will talk to her." Ed was angry. "She's allowed to stay."

Now that the topic Ed had been trying to mentally bury had escaped into the room, he was climbing up the walls, and Roy was impressed Ed was so composed when he arrived. Ed walked to a metal bucket of cleaning solution and yanked it up from the floor. As a friend Roy tried to put this in perspective for Ed.

"Maybe he's disowned you as a brother."

Ed's automail tightened on the bucket handle and bent the metal. It tipped the bucket to the side and emptied it onto the floor, but Ed didn't notice. He had gone straight-backed and stiff as a board, but Roy continued.

"That would be the obvious conclusion," Roy said. "I mean, if you add it up it makes sense. That after losing your parents together, and sticking it out through your automail, and all this military chaos, that capriciously, he might call it quits after a few people imply you've been tugging his dick these last few weeks."

Ed dropped the bucket to the floor and followed it. He sat down in the puddle of water, leaned his head into his hands, and held his scalp staring at the floor.

Roy watched this. "You understand, how stupid that is?" he asked flatly. "How badly you're discrediting not only Alphonse's judgment, but the value of your relationship?" Ed rocked forward a bit, but didn't speak. "He would be disappointed." Ed made a soft throat-clenching sound, and Roy slid his hands back into his pockets and sighed. "I think it might be a good idea if you stayed with someone tonight, Ed. You look like shit, and you're more mentally unstable than I've ever seen you. Do you have someone you can call?"

Ed dragged his flesh hand onto his face, and rubbed at it before clearing his throat. "No."

"What about someone who can come stay here?"

Ed didn't bother answering this, and Roy sighed again. He found this unsatisfactory, but you couldn't order social behavior into existance, and you couldn't help arrogant eccentric subordinates have friends. _When we organized an intervention things were different._

"You're staying here tonight then?" Roy confirmed. Ed chose not to answer this as well.

"I'm going to finish cleaning the place," Ed said, voice soft and miserable.

"Okay." Roy turned and walked to the door before pausing. "I'm calling Hawkeye." Ed pushed his hands into his hair before looking up. The stress was crippling. "Stay home, and remember to eat something."

Roy left and called the Elric's original dorm from his house. No one picked up, and he found that absolutely obnoxious. He called Hawkeye's as well and there was no answer. Unable to figure out what was going on, he returned to his evening plans. He had a date. He left and picked her up approaching six. They went to dinner, it was long, with lots of bright conversation and wine. They came back to his place at eleven, made love for nearly an hour, and at two in the morning she woke him because someone was ringing his doorbell. Poking his arm, she was whispering for him to answer it, and while Roy was not normally a heavy sleeper, with the company and the rain which had started, he was lulled into comfort.

He left her in bed and went to the door in his pajama pants. He didn't bring a weapon because he was on base. The crime rate at Central Command was nonexistent. There were no pretty crimes of any type because no one knew if the house belonged to a soldier, someone in administration, or an alchemist. The odds were against you. No robber wanted to accidentally pick an alchemist or soldier, and then, even if you guessed correctly, and found administration, their neighbors were dangerous, so the streets were clear. The only thing to worry about was Friday and Saturday nights, when soldiers were up to all hours drinking.

Roy didn't know what he was expecting when he answered the bell, but on sight of Ed standing on his porch dripping from the rain, he knew what he did not want.

Ed was still dressed, and looked as if he had destroyed another water main. He didn't speak when Roy opened the door. He still looked absolutely exhausted. Behind him Central was flooding itself in sheets of rain, and with the sharp damp air ghosting over Roy's bare toes he managed one dry statement.

"Ed, why are you not at home?"

Ed gave a heavy blink when Roy broke the silence. The sound of the downpour was not the steady indoor hum of rain drops on window panes, it was loud, and Ed's chin was dripping heavily.

Weighing on Ed's brow was an intense look of worry, and Ed said, "This can't wait until tomorrow, can I come in?" Roy's expression barely moved, but directly after his question Ed was absolutely certain Roy did not want him inside. It meant the start of whatever this was, and the end of whatever Roy was doing. "I know it's really late," Ed said, speaking faster. "But I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important. I wouldn't have, I swear."

Roy stepped back with a curse. He didn't entirely believe this, but he held the door as Ed tromped in, boots squishing. "What's so important?" Roy asked.

"The General was just at my place," Ed said, wiping his wet bangs from his face and glancing around the way one does when entering. "He showed up at one."

This was not what Roy was expecting. "General Keshow?" he asked, with disbelief.

Ed nodded. "Do you have a towel?" Ed clapped and began drying his clothing. Unlike Ed's new dorm, one small outfit did not make enough steam to disrupt Roy's house, and Ed did his top half before his pants and coat. Roy went quickly to his downstairs bathroom and grabbed the face cloth from the counter. Ed was sniffling and wiping his face on his sleeve when Roy returned. He handed it over and Ed used it to clench the bottom of his wet hair.

"What did he want?" Roy asked, feeling nervous.

"Can I have something to drink?" Ed asked, giving his face a quick once over with the towel.

"Ed, just spit it out."

"Not like that," Ed said. "I mean a real drink." Roy's tired mind was going slow, but Ed looked a bit embarrassed with his question, and that explained it. _Ed wanted alcohol._ "I need something," Ed said softly, giving Roy a pleading look. "Please, I feel like I'm going insane."

"You're going to give yourself an ulcer," Roy said, turning toward his kitchen with a nod for Ed to follow. "This better be bad news." Roy pointed to his kitchen table, and Ed took a seat and continued drying his hair. Roy grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before seating himself across from Ed. He poured them each an inch and set the bottle down before lifting his cup. Ed did the same and went to toss the shot back before pausing when he realized Roy was waiting with his extended.

Growing a wry sleepy grin Roy knocked his cup into Ed's, and then emptied it. Ed looked clueless, but tossed his back and set the cup down before taking hold of the bottle. He didn't lift it, but his grasp posed the silent question. Roy gave a nod, and Ed threw down another two inches.

"Don't drink so much you can't walk home," Roy warned, sliding his cup forward. Ed poured them each another inch and then sat holding his cup. "And you need to come to work tomorrow." Ed was staring into his drink. Roy finished, and set his glass on the table. The rain was pelting his kitchen window, destroying dead silence with a natural melody.

"They want me to kill someone," Ed said softly. He looked up and took a deep breath. "They want me to kill someone."

"The committee?"

Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was crumpled and damp. Ed opened it and slid it to Roy. Ed's palm censored half the employee photo and most of the details until lifted, but Roy recognized it immediately as a soldier's Personnel File cover sheet. A summary with more than a name, photo, and rank, it listed skills and physical details. The man was a thirty-six year old alchemist. Roy read every line, quickly, and lifted his gaze to Ed in silent question. _The meaning was obvious, but my god, we still had to be sure._

"The General asked me to do a favor for the committee," Ed said softly. "I thought he was one of my new neighbors, I left him knocking for over five minutes." Ed cracked a panicked smile. "Then I was swearing colorfully when I opened the door." Roy could only imagine. Ed reached up and gave his face another wipe with his hand. "I was half asleep, and seriously thought I was going to piss myself the second I saw him. All I could think was, fuck, they're checking up on me, actually checking up on me! This man came to my place at midnight, and we didn't do what he said." Ed began a nervous laugh.

"Did he notice?" Roy was flabbergasted with the entire story. For the moment, he existed solely through his ears. Thought process at a grinding halt.

Ed shrugged. "I had maintenance deliver a couch, and I was sleeping there in my clothes. I just passed out after scrubbing the floors. I let him in and didn't tell him we didn't follow orders, I just apologized, and probably looked like a freaking idiot with my jaw on the floor."

"Was he still in uniform?"

"Yeah."

"Complete uniform?"

"Like he just stepped off the committee board!" Ed whispered fiercely. "He said they found my case especially trying."

"Son of a bitch," Roy said flatly.

"I told him, babbling like a god damn idiot, there wasn't anything credible to it, and they had nothing to worry about, and that they would never hear the Elric name under these circumstances again." Ed began shaking softly, and Roy was disturbed by it. "I think I was actually begging him," Ed said, sounding ill. "I thought he was going to start asking me questions, asking me if I'd done it." Ed's eyes fell to his lap. "I thought he was going to say that they thought I was guilty, but just didn't want it getting out."

"Son of a bitch."

"He didn't." Ed's eyes were rooted in his lap. "He didn't say anything about my pending charges, just said the committee was working on the case and needed some help."

"What a way to word it."

"I agreed immediately."

"Of course you would."

"I didn't think he was going to ask me to fucking kill someone!" Ed said. "Now what am I going to do!" Ed grabbed his cup and emptied it. "I'm so fucked."

Roy reached forward and uncapped the whiskey. He poured Ed another two inches and left the bottle open. For the moment he didn't know what to say.

Ed swallowed half his cup before repeating himself. "I'm so fucked. I am so fucked."

"This is the man they want you to kill?" Roy asked, impaling the photo with his index finger. Ed nodded quickly. "How do they want it done?"

"Quietly."

Roy chuckled with a bit of disgust. _Of course they did._ He lifted his hands and pressed the bottoms of his palms to his eyes and rubbed at them. This was too much for early morning. "Oh, god dammit," he groaned softly.

"Roy, this is classified." _Of course it was._

"What about your arm?" Roy asked, continuing to rub. "What now? You still taking it off?" He dropped his hands with exhaustion.

Ed's expression wobbled, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. _Feeling like the Colonel was reading your mind was a sensation seven years old,_ and Ed gave a silent pause before answering. "The General said not to, he said there was no need for such fuss."

"Such fuss," Roy repeated scornfully. _Of freaking course they freaking did._

Roy's date entered the kitchen wearing only his partially closed uniform dress shirt. She was also half asleep, and looked confused with Roy's delay. Expecting him to be alone, she flinched with surprise when Roy and Ed looked up, and modestly grabbed at the lapels of the shirt. Sputtering a soft, "Oh," she tightened it into a stiff collar turtleneck, and looked to Roy with uncertainty.

Ed was more than embarrassed, and averted his gaze immediately. A faint blush said he understood her presence.

"It's okay," Roy said to her. She stepped closer to the doorway for privacy, and he gave her a smile. "I'll come back to bed soon, this is some unexpected business."

"Is everything all right?" She sounded worried, and Ed shifted his weight further from her, wishing to escape the room, but Roy was unbothered.

"Fine, don't be alarmed."

She left quickly, and Roy looked to Ed's stiff posture. He couldn't help but smile. "Don't get your panties in a knot, Fullmetal," he teased. "I'm the one who invited you in."

Ed shifted softly, and moved his eyes to his half-filled cup. "I'm sorry," Ed said. "I didn't…mean to…" Curiously Roy waited to see if Ed would finish his sentence, but Ed fell silent.

"It was right for you to come here," Roy said kindly. Ed lifted his gaze looking faint with relief. "When people over me order you to kill, that is a valid reason to wake me up."

"What am I going to do about this?" Ed asked again, sounding frantic with stress. "I can't just kill this random man, Roy."

"I know you feel that way," Roy said, taking a deep breath. "And it does appear you may need to kill someone, so obviously you're panicking." Ed's desperate gaze was latched to him. "In order for you to evaluate this, and think clearly, you must relax."

"This isn't a good time for me."

Roy chuckled. "I know."

"They're holding this over my head. They're not going to help me if I don't do this, and worse, they could make it bad for me." This was true. "They could convict me, out of spite," Ed said angrily. "Convict me for disobeying them."

"That's possible," Roy admitted. "The suggestion is that your freedom is hostage, that's why they feel comfortable making such a big request. You're not in there submitting to have parking tickets waived. You're looking at criminal abuse charges, on a miner, up to and including sexual charges, and it just happens to name your brother." Ed grabbed the zipper to his jacket and began twisting it absently seeking stress relief. "To avoid that you might kill someone," Roy said calmly. "They don't truly know what your ethical compass is like, you might have no problem killing someone."

Ed gave his head a fast dismissive shake. The idea of enacting murder was offensive to him, and in a rushed tone, he asked, "How can I find out why they want to kill him?"

Roy lifted a palm to stop this. "More importantly, the question is, is he a bad man?"

"What?"

"You could kill a bad man, couldn't you?"

"No," Ed said angrily, dragging out the word as if Roy were mentally slow. "I could help arrest one, and let the court decide his fate."

"Ed," Roy said flatly. "The court just did."

* * *

This chapter goes down easy, I know. Please lend me your thoughts in a review! I'm continually fascinated by people commenting on the potential OOCness this story might include, but Ed's growing up. Again, I wrote this well before brotherhood, so we'd never seen him at this age, and he's under a tremendous amount of stress in this story. I promise, I felt bad for him the entire time.

Chapter 12: Small Black Cancerous Stone, will be posted 05/19/17.

Hope to see you there.


	13. Small Black Cancerous Stone

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Twelve  
 _Small Black Cancerous Stone_

\- mirage–

Roy didn't have the heart to send Ed home in the rain, and the boy slept on his downstairs couch. The next morning he found Ed passed out, stomach down, and drooling with the whiskey bottle in hand.

His date found this humorous and she stood over Ed's sleeping form smiling. "Roy, he's so cute," she said, already dressed as he cooked them breakfast. "How old is he?"

"Not old enough."

She laughed. "You liar." The minimum age for a recruit was sixteen, and the desired and common was eighteen. "What's his name?"

"Steve."

Roy had his breakfast with her, and then she left. He dressed for work, floating through the sudden displaced feeling when the warmth of another's body quickly came and went. With every mundane task he ordered his mind into silence. Put on watch, _don't think about news received last night._ Lace up boots, _nothing else to think about._ Edward's words came in a heavy soot-based smog that left you wondering where the window was, and certain you could clear it all out if only you could find it. _Where was the window._

Roy pulled Ed off his couch and on autopilot, without moving a single article or accessing a sink, Ed went to the car. The whiskey bottle was left behind practically empty, and for once Roy felt like there was nothing he could say. He put Ed in the backseat and left to pick up Hawkeye. She had called that morning and sounded concerned she couldn't reach Ed. Said she had the new Elric apartment number incorrect, because no one was answering, and wanted a ride to work because she and Alphonse had been dropped off last night and she didn't have her car. Said he owed it to her for letting him drive her to the hospital that one time. Roy thought it was cute when she said he owed her things, and pulled up in front of Ed's old building with the car smelling like a bar.

Hawkeye let Alphonse get in the front passenger side before discovering Ed in the backseat with surprise. Ed was sitting up, but was visibly drunk. "Ed?" Hawkeye blurted. "I've been calling you."

Alphonse, who had gone stiff in his seat battling the insulting smell of the car, twisted around with a piercing, "Nii-san!" Alphonse was loud with confusion. "We called your place this morning, how come you didn't pick up! Was there a catastrophe!"

Roy groaned silently and closed his eyes. He rolled Alphonse's words around in his head feeling overrun with the boy's new animated ridiculous nature, before opening them slowly with a tired unseeing glare of despise for the fact these words were all-in-all rather accurate. _Was there a catastrophe._ That was how you would word things to Edward Elric, who didn't have teeny tiny mistakes, or silly blunders. _Oops! Let me try that again._ This was flesh-ripping, apocalyptic Edward Elric, and life was spotted with catastrophes while everyone else went around stubbing their toes and whacking their funny bone.

Ed was frowning with older-sibling frustration the accusation was so truthful, and angry, with words slurring, he said, "No, I didn't answer, because I wasn't home."

"Where were you?" Alphonse asked.

Hawkeye gestured for Alphonse to exit the front. "Alphonse, take the back." They couldn't drive with Alphonse sitting in the front while trying to sit in the back.

Alphonse rushed to the back and slid in eagerly before jolting away from Ed with confusion. "Nii-san, what's that smell on you!" Alphonse was appalled, and looked ready to dry heave. "It's so potent. You smell like an old man." Alphonse associated the smell of, 'drunk,' with washed-up adults, and his expression took on a suspicious disapproval. As if Ed wondered into a patch of life he shouldn't have while they were separated.

Roy shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. "It's whiskey," Ed said dryly, lifting his gaze to Hawkeye when she turned her head to share a stoic message-less expression with Mustang. There was nothing outward on her face, but even drunk Ed understood she was speaking and that Roy, who continued driving, was only acknowledging.

"What did you do, spill it all over yourself, Nii-san?" Alphonse asked, pinching his nose.

Ed looked disgusted, and also disgusting. "No," he snapped. "It's coming out my pores, I am drunk." Edward slurred the beginning and ending of his sentences, and Alphonse looked shocked. "I am severely dehydrated and my body's water content is highly concentrated with whiskey, and that's why you smell it."

"Isn't alcohol a stomach irritant?" Alphonse asked. "Shouldn't you be sick if you're so concentrated?" Ed smiled. "How long until you're less concentrated?"

"Not long enough."

"Alphonse, Ed can stay in my car and sleep it off while we go inside," Roy said. Ed scoffed with disagreement. "Ed, you cannot be drunk at work. I will take that very seriously," Roy said firmly.

Hawkeye made no comment with these orders, but from the corner of her eye Roy felt her glance in his direction, and he realized he felt the same way she did. That this was not preferable: _all of it, everything._ Her not having her car as desired, him with the Elrics in the backseat, the appeal complication growing outward, and the unwanted invasive stress bleeding into the office and destroying what little routine there was. He was going to have to talk to Ed about this. _Surely if they did enough hand waving and blind groping they'd find the window._

Roy considered the rear view mirror for only a minute. Alphonse was huddled on one side of the car grimacing as if his head were in a land fill, and Ed was slouched on the other with his eyes barely open wearing a quiet peaceful expression. It destroyed Roy's resolve. _How could you criticize a string of mistakes? Even if mistakes were all you ever had._ Feeling cornered and unsatisfied with his position on this chessboard Roy tightened his grip on the steering wheel and Hawkeye noticed. "I'm growing very irritated," Roy announced to everyone.

No one said anything, and Ed gave a drunk man's wobbling solute.

* * *

With Hawkeye at her desk elbows deep in paperwork Havoc came to stand in front of it. He didn't speak. He waited for her to predictably stop working and look up before lifting the scrap of paper that held only his own scrawled penmanship, with a flat, "Something is wrong with the Colonel."

"What?" Hawkeye asked, glancing to where Roy was working diligently. Today the Colonel was focused. As if he had slept hardy and woken with a new bout of clarity. He was quiet, and poured himself into his manic office desk. Although this was suspiciously adventitious, they had to do it once in a while or things just wouldn't get done, and Roy was completing his in-box as if it gave him pleasure.

Skeptically Hawkeye turned her gaze to the shred of paper hanging from Havoc's grasp. She read the contents quickly: _ham and cheese, tuna on wheat, salami on white with dressing on the side, tomato soup with hard roll._

She noticed what was absent before Havoc spoke, but he wanted to emphasize his concern and said, "There is something missing here."

Yes, yes there was something missing. The best ham and cheese only came from one deli. It was a small mom-and-pop Central hole-in-the-wall, and a sandwich there easily cost 8 cens, but it was worth it. This deli also had fantastic wheat bread, mouthwatering salami, homemade organic tomato soup, and prime slices of roast beef.

 _Roast Beef on morning bread with mustard._ Roy's lunch was missing. Roy's famous roast beef. The roast beef the man had never gone without when ordering from the deli. The disadvantage of hole-in-the-wall dinning meant no one delivered. An employee had to give up time to fetch the order, and then they could only bring back what they could reasonably carry.

"There was even that one time, when it was snowing like crazy, and it was up to my knees," Havoc said, miserably reciting a vivid memory of Roy's roast beef order. There were just those days that the Colonel needed a good lunch, and once he got the idea into his head his meal was a seven inch sandwich made of four inches fresh morning bread and three inches of prime roast beef slices, there was no stopping him. "Also that one time it was raining," Havoc added, sighing heavily with the many memories of dejected lunch fetching.

It was unspoken, and unanimously agreed upon that Havoc was the one in their office who went to pick up food. Every team had one person they could spare for forty minutes without the work load feeling heavier, and under Colonel Mustang, that was Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc.

Hawkeye said the only thing that felt sensible. "Write it down."

Havoc's brow took on a subtle but definite crease of perplexed disagreement.

Hawkeye ignored this and gave the paper a subtle poke with her pen. "You heard me," she said softly. "Just put it on there."

"But he didn't order it," Havoc said, as if she were missing the big picture. As if they didn't announce where lunch was coming from and have people calling out orders and smacking their lips and rubbing their stomachs, and grinning the elated early-morning grins looking forward to early-afternoon lunch.

"I don't care, I'm buying," she said quickly.

"But he didn't order it!"

Hawkeye snatched the paper and quickly scrawled in the final order. _Roast beef on morning bread with mustard._ Then she thrust it back to Havoc and gave him a look. _There stupid, you couldn't write that down? Forget how to spell?_

Havoc wasn't appeased with this, but he wasn't an idiot either. He could hit a target eight hundred and twenty-nine miles away, and when you could hit a target from eight hundred and twenty-nine miles away you knew something about planning and foresight, even if it was only eight hundred and twenty-nine miles worth.

"Why don't you go now to pick it up?" Hawkeye suggested, glancing about the room. The only other spectator was Fuery, and for the time being he had seated himself on the floor and looked to be wiring himself to a collection of electronic pieces none of them understood. _He could easily be taken care of._ "Probably, should leave now." _It was only nine thirty and Havoc didn't miss this either._ This was within eight hundred and twenty-nine miles of comprehension.

"Oh yes," Havoc said sarcastically. "On sunny days it usually takes me several hours." He tucked the lunch list into his pocket and left. Hawkeye wasn't exactly sure where he would go, or what he was working on, considering she'd just completely derailed his assignment, but for the moment, she didn't care.

Roy could eat. There was fact to this. He was what the military called, a healthy eater, and it had nothing to do with how much he ate, or of what he consumed. What it meant was that he ate consistently. So in a time of war, you could have body parts flying and bombs going off, and when the dinner bell rang Roy Mustang would sit down and pick up his fork. He ate, and so he could be counted upon to eat when things were at their worst and when things were at their best. It didn't have to be carrot sticks and celery, and it didn't have to be measured in the ton, but dammit, it needed to be consumed, so he had the strength and commitment to lead the troops. No one was a worse leader than a distracted hungry person, and the Amestrian military believed this.

"Fuery," Hawkeye whispered, giving Roy a nervous side glance. Fuery was a seated marionette, and she was hoping he would actually be able to detangle himself and go…go…. Hawkeye felt a momentary lapse of skill come to her. She was good at many things, but lying was not one of them. Curious, she turned her gaze back to Roy. He was hunched over his work, pen scrawling furiously and it was impossible to see his expression.

For nine years she had worked in this office, and she knew Fuery could be easily distracted and easily tricked. He was gullible. She had once watched Havoc glue most of every item Fuery had to Fuery's desk just to sit across the room at his own and systematically ask Fuery if he could borrow: _stapler, pencil, eraser, ruler._ If the first glued item didn't clue you in, you would have thought the third would. They were all a little confused and disappointed when this joke played out, but all Havoc had to do was keep a confident unwavering voice, and speak in flat statements: _I have no idea. That question sounds like an implication. I don't see glue on anything._

"Fuery?" Hawkeye tried again. She was charging forward without a plan, feeling nervous, but determined. _There was a reason we weren't eating._ "Lieutenant?"

Fuery lowered his single earphone and looked over with a curious, "Did you call me?"

"Um…" And we had to say something. "The Major is looking for you." _What a lie!_

"The Major?" Fuery found this odd. "Who?" _Yes, which Major. There was more than one. Hell, there was more than thirty!_ "Major Armstrong?"

"Yes." Confident unwavering voice.

"Just now?"

"Yes."

"Did he call?"

"Yes, he called."

"What did he say?"

"…To…report to his office…" _That didn't take enough time._ "With…the latest thing you are working on." Fuery was stunned. "What are you working on?"

"A possible way to collapse the electromagnetic field within ultra high frequencies."

Hawkeye stared, clueless, before giving a confident unwavering nod. "Yes, that."

Fuery lit up as if he'd struck gold, and he untangled himself at lightning speed. "Okay! All right! I'll be right back then! If lunch comes before I get back, don't let anyone eat any of it!" He was rushing for the door as he spoke. "And don't let them take the dressing either!" Then he was gone.

Hawkeye sat back and felt a small triumphant smile grace her lips. _Look what I just did._ Then she turned, still smiling, and looked over at Roy. She expected him to be facing his desk, working diligently, but instead his head was raised. He was looking out at his empty office with a perplexed and annoyed expression. _Where were all the subordinates?_

Roy lifted his pen and pointed angrily to the door, asking, "Where did he just go?"

Hawkeye ignored this. "Why didn't you order lunch?" And her question won.

Roy considered her. She was sitting harmlessly at her desk, looking innocent and caring, but there was nothing harmless or innocent about her, and the fact that she was caring was dangerous. She was that soldier on the battle field grabbing at your slit middle while you were holding in your guts saying, "Okay, just let me look at it! Okay, just let me look at it! I won't touch, I'll just look! I am just looking!" But she was never just looking. It was never just a look. She put whipped cream on his coffee and she did it for a god damn reason. _Because it was never just looking._

There wasn't a shred of a solid answer Roy could give to distract her, and he knew this. What was he going to say? _No, that's not my small intestine, I had that in my pocket._ Suddenly the width of the office, and the space between her desk and his seemed miles apart. He was an island and she was the coast. There was a sense of drifting away. As if the line anchoring him to land had been cut and he was sinking out and sinking down. He was heavy. Last night he had gained a hundred pounds and he was carrying it with him. _It was the weight of a secret_ , and more specifically, it was the weight of a secret he could not give up, because it wasn't his secret, and worse, it was the weight of…

Hawkeye spoke, and her voice cut through the silence of the room. "Colonel? _Roy thought about the sound of last night's rain, and the way it had been pelting his bedroom window while he enjoyed his evening._ "Colonel, I am only going to say this once." _Then he was opening the door and everything was changing. Fullmetal was in his kitchen._ "I bought you lunch…" _The boy was suddenly twelve and standing before his desk asking for a pocket watch._ "…roast beef on morning bread with mustard…" _The boy was suddenly eighteen sitting in his kitchen asking for a compass._ "…and I'll eat it." Hawkeye lifted her gaze and Roy felt his mind root more heavily in the current conversation. "I'll eat your roast beef on morning bread with mustard." _She was going to eat his lunch?_ "I'll eat it right here at my desk." _This was appalling!_

Roy blurted the first thing to come to mind. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Equivalent exchange."

She wanted something for the sandwich, and she wasn't going to tell him what because they both already knew what it was. _She wanted the stone in his pocket._

The fact she was suggesting some type of roast beef hostage holding with complete seriousness, and Roy felt himself actually considering the wager, brought a small laugh, and he dropped his pen and pressed his palm to his face so he could smile into it. _Good god, was that what Fullmetal's secret was worth? A roast beef sandwich!_

Roy scrubbed his palm over the bridge of his nose and up to his left eye. The options were stark. He had to be frank about things. He had once gone to her apartment late in the evening, and said, "Have you seen the elite M88 long range, light weight, bolt carrier, sniper rifle? It seems to be missing." She had answered in a dress shirt and pajama pants, and he found it adorable. She was drying her hair fresh from a shower, and he could hear something bubbling on her stove.

On that night, she knew that he knew. The same way today, he knew that she knew.

She had taken the rifle home with her because she couldn't handle parting with it. The moment its absence was reported, Roy was certain this was the case, and he knew exactly what she had done with it: kept it, like a prize, gleeful and excited.

Now she was threatening to eat his sandwich if he didn't tell her what he had in his pocket because making a threat that couldn't move a mouse, was easier than saying, _tell me what's bothering you._ It was more dignified than saying, _I know something is wrong,_ because you weren't admitting that something was wrong, you weren't implying that anyone looked bothered, you were simply offering a means to stop yourself from putting someone else's roast beef sandwich into your mouth.

"Fullmetal showed up at my place last night," Roy said. _This was how it started._ "Late."

"With Alphonse?"

"Alone," Roy corrected, with a bit of annoyance. The boys had scared her for life conducting the first five years of their relationship inseparable. "He was given orders from the appeal committee last night." Hawkeye's concern appeared in her expression. Her eyes narrowed, but somehow they grew larger with intensity. She knew what the military could do. She watched the world through cross hairs. "The objective is to take out an identified target." She understood this, and a look of horror seeded and spread through her face until her brow was tight and her mouth was dipping open. _This wasn't the stone. This was the secret, but not the stone._ "This is classified information."

Hawkeye lifted a hand in concern and brought it to her mouth. Not the way concerned civilian women did, flattening their palm over her lips as if to suppress a scream, but like a soldier, with the side of her fist tucked beneath her slender nose. "Poor Ed," she whispered.

"He wants me to advise him." _He reached into his pocket_. "He is asking me for guidance." _The thing Roy was just learning he might be worst at._

Hawkeye replaced her hand to her desk, and said quickly, "You have to help him." Her voice was very soft, but very frantic. _What were they not saying? What were they not discussing?_ That this seemed unfathomable for Ed? Was it now unfathomable that soldiers killed people? He hadn't said who the target was. He hadn't stated whether or not he agreed with the mission objective, or even the removal of the target, but that wasn't where she was taking things, and it wasn't what he was saying either. He was saying he disagreed with orders coming in this way, and under these pretenses, and she was saying it was unfathomable that Ed be asked to murder. _But sir, he's only twelve!_

"He's not a little boy anymore, Lieutenant," Roy said, feeling angry even as he spoke these words. _Why couldn't he be, for fuck sake. How about just a little longer, motherfuckers._

Hawkeye's eyes widened, and she choked a soft breath. "You can't possibly condone this." She already sounded certain he didn't, and Roy was already certain he agreed. "He's not a mercenary, and he's never seen a battle." _Edward was not what they were._ "Is that what you're going to tell him? To eliminate the target?"

 _Roy pulled out his hand._ There were two options on the table: Obey your orders, and disobey your orders. Roy set his elbows to his desk and dropped his forehead into his hands. "I can't tell him to follow his orders," he said angrily, speaking down to his Arsenal report, with his red pen chicken scratch and random yellow highlights. _Slowly, Roy uncurled his fist, and in his palm, heavy as lead..._ "I can't tell him to follow orders because I wish there was someone there telling me not to follow mine before I made mistakes." _…and there was the small black cancerous stone._ The bar that said you were a good guardian, held so high up you could never reach it. The weight of feeling too dirty, too dark, too vile, to guide something bright with life.

Hawkeye startled out of her chair. Her gaze was wide with sadness and she rushed to Roy's desk and dropped her palms on top of it. "You have to tell him to disobey that order," she whispered. "You know that is what your gut is telling you." _Just let me look at it! I'm just looking! Not touching! "_ Sir, what are you thinking?"

"I can't give him that directive," Roy said angrily, lifting his head and dropping his hands to his desk. "This is a choice he needs to make."

"And if he thought he could make it he wouldn't be asking for your advice!" Hawkeye snapped, choking a rough breath of disbelief. "Sir, Edward does not know what to do!"

"Then he needs to decide," Roy said firmly. Suddenly he was angry, and he was angry at her for making this something he was responsible for. He was angry at her for talking about this, and talking about what Ed might have to do. "Then he needs to learn to know what to do."

Hawkeye's expression went to anger immediately, and in a low cruel voice, she said, "You don't believe one word of that." She was irritated with his unconscious lies, and instantly Roy's anger was gone and he conceded.

"No, I don't believe that." He deflated like a balloon and pressed his hand back to his face before upward into his hair. "No," he said softly. "No, I don't believe that." Hawkeye kept a nonjudgmental gaze trained on him. "I don't know what I believe." He dropped both hands in defeat. "But I can't tell him to disobey orders without the slightest idea to what …"

Roy silenced when his office door opened and General Keshow entered. The man stepped in with comfortable familiarity, as if Ed's appeal was a mutual lunch meeting of enjoyment.

The General gave Hawkeye a small acknowledging nod and she stepped back from the desk and snapped into Attention, while Roy was still trying to pull the cotton balls from his mouth.

"Don't trouble yourself getting up, Colonel," General Keshow said, lifting a kind hand as he approached. The man was not being sarcastic, he was being generous. The way he was being generous with the Elric brothers when he decided not to tear them apart and lock the older one in a metal military box for hoping he could save something he accidentally destroyed.

Feeling unformidable, and only foolish after he spoke, Roy muttered a soft, "General Keshow," before finding his voice as suddenly as stepping onto a stage. "What can I do for you, General." He stood quickly, and bowed, because it was _his_ subordinate certain people didn't throw into military prison.

"I've made a last minute adjustment, and I always hated them when I was a Colonel," General Keshow said. "Generals, dipping into your weapon supplies and troop numbers at whim, not that a friendly face makes news like that any better." General Keshow gave a small shrug _._

The word friendly was circling in Roy's mind like a buzzard.

"I understand," Roy said quickly, tone flawlessly confident and commanding. _He understood nothing!_ And for a brief minute he thought he saw life through Fullmetal's eyes and it had the effect of peering outward from inside a carrousel. Everything was swirling around you and everyone else was having a great time in the very momentum making you sick. "What change of plans can I be of assistance with?"

"I scheduled the Fullmetal Alchemist to catch the morning train." General Keshow's tone changed a fraction of a pitch, but it spoke volumes. This phrase did not come from the casual shrugging commander, it came from the true military dictator that lived inside him. The side of the General that allowed him to reach the members of the committee and lead over them. His disarming deceptive appearance was one of his weapons, and Roy felt the muzzle aimed at his face.

"Very good," Roy said quickly. _What exactly did you say to this?_ Couldn't just ask where the heck subordinates were being shipped to when we specifically weren't being told. In an odd way, he felt grateful he was being told at all, and Ed wasn't calling him hysterical from inside a train car miles away.

"It shouldn't be too great an inconvenience, what with Central being so comfortable at the moment." Empathetic General Keshow returned. "I expect him gone no more than a day, three at the most."

Roy felt betrayed by the cotton rising up his throat. _They were fast._ That was all you could say about it. They had a golden egg in their palms and they didn't lack the ambition to make sure it wasn't wasted. The gap between giving Ed his mission, and when he actually deployed for it could have been something as inconsequential as inconvenient train scheduling. Or perhaps one member feeling as if they were squandering their request. Hell, for this type of secret you might risk a lot. You might risk a hell of a lot more than one man's life, and nothing made a better dog of the military than one with fear and something to lose.

Of course, that was assuming the gap was not part of the plan, and it was impossible to know that it wasn't. They might have done it on purpose. They might have done it deliberately to make sure Fullmetal didn't run. He was still a young soldier, and rather put together, but certainly no more put together than a soldier. _They don't want us unmanageably insane._ They might have wanted to be certain that in his youth he wouldn't turn tail and head out in whatever direction he thought looked the most elusive. Or they might have been certain he would run, and they wanted to see who exactly he would run to.

Across his face Roy felt a large red X smear down his forehead, eyes, and cheeks. If you wanted to know where Fullmetal buried his lucky tickets, it would have been as easy as watching the boy flee his apartment, run through the rain, and wind up on the porch of his commanding officer. _Shit, the man still let the kid in when the alternative was late night pussy._

"I just haven't seen the young boy, so I can give him the news," General Keshow said, breaking Roy from his mental spell. "I can't seem to find him." Behind Keshow's wire thin glasses a cunning twinkle was born in his eyes, and a powerful smile came next, looking too kind to be dangerous. "But I will," the man said, as sure as if he were laying out a royal flush.

Roy's mouth found it in him to speak, to save his blank expression, and liquefying thoughts. If his head were a bucket his right ear would have sprung a leak, and the side of his uniform would carry twelve years of military service and four years of academy study. _Useless apparently._

"Yes," Roy said, crisply.

General Keshow turned on his heels and retreated back to the door as casually as he'd come. He gave only a soft nod when his foot lifted over the threshold, and Roy was left saluting the man's back with Hawkeye a statuette at his side.

When the door closed she visibly exhaled, and Roy let his arm fall like a tree branch giving way.

He looked to Hawkeye and she met his eyes, but they were silent. Staring, and staring. Her expression preached something softly, and Roy knew it was the same thing Fullmetal believed.

 _The opinions of a murderer still matter to me._

* * *

Sheska watched Roy Mustang enter the Intelligence Branch from Intelligence Reception. He looked to be a man on a mission, and she broke a wide greeting smile that quickly faded when he avoided the required sign-in post, and instead slipped into one of the Record rooms.

Frozen in a moment of indecision, Sheska felt her professional responsibility come barreling down upon her.

"Um…" she whispered, staring at the motionless Records door Mustang had just swept aside and entered. His walk was brisk and full of authority, and it was almost enough to fool her into thinking he had clearance, but as she also processed the approval slips, she was certain he did not. _So he was breaking in!_ Sheska felt a fast shiver come and go, and echoing was the thought: _Just like Hughes._

Lieutenant Hawkeye appeared next, entering the long hall of the Intelligence Branch and Sheska, filled to the brim with sudden anxiety, visibly deflated with a sigh. _Oh, thank goodness!_ Surely the Lieutenant would sign them both in, or perhaps scold Mustang for forgetting to follow regulation, but this was not the case.

Hawkeye followed Mustang flawlessly. She too deviated away from the reception desk, marched toward the three Record halls, and into the room Mustang had entered.

Sheska leapt up from her post at the counter and rushed down the hall, military heels clicking. She was certain Colonel Mustang was going to get one of the Lieutenant's famously rumored tongue lashings! It was said that big fights often broke out between the Colonel and First Lieutenant, but they kept it hidden.

Eager, Sheska pressed her ear to the door, curious and fascinated _. Just what could one female officer say to the hero of the Ishvallan war that kept him so in line!_ Riza Hawkeye must have unrivaled female finesse and ingenuity if she could keep her commanding officer, the dreamy Flame Alchemist, on such a short leash with such impeccable skill!

Through the width of the door only muffled whispers could be heard and Sheska closed her eyes and tried to determine where they had gone. The Intelligence Record Rooms were of long rectangular design with the layout of a library. The books lined the walls, the main floor was dissected with aisles, and spotted about were lamped tables so records could be reviewed and noted but never removed from the room.

Through the wood of the door the sound of Mustang's heavier steps could be heard, but not Hawkeye's lighter ones. Inside he walked slowly down the aisles with his head cocked, reading the catalogue system.

Obnoxiously, Hawkeye followed along on the other side of the aisle, glaring through the fumbling landscape of book spines because her questions were being ignored.

"Lieutenant," Roy said, keeping his voice down and adding his hand to the lip of the shelf. He lifted his finger and it hovered under the spines as he read them. "If you're in here, someone may eat your lunch."

Hawkeye responded with her only question. "What are we looking for?"

"We're, _"_ Roy emphasized, "not doing anything." He selected a fat volume of archived deployment manuscripts. Its absence left a sliver of Hawkeye's frowning face, before she reached into the shelf and shoved a few books outward.

Roy flinched back and looked at the books that tumbled to the floor. Angrily he began to whisper, "Don't shove the books at…" before silencing when a few more jumped off the shelf and committed suicidal flutters into the pile. "I am going to want my roast beef, Lieutenant," Roy said angrily.

Through the recently cracked Record's Room door Sheska watched with absolute confusion as books spilled their way off the shelf towards the Colonel before he began shoving them off the other side at the Lieutenant.

 _Was this it? Childish pranks done in private?_

Feeling absolutely lost, a dark shadow came over Sheska's body, and she looked down at the floor about her feet. Her own shadow had suddenly extended, and with startling realization, she jerked free of the door and spun around to face the towering body of Major Armstrong.

Amused, but feigning disinterested inobservance as always, he was smiling.

Wanting to be alone in Records, Roy carried several books to the back research table and dropped them on top. Someone appeared to be occupying the table, and had left open material. Roy used his arm to press it aside and nearly off the other end. _He needed the space._

Hawkeye approached the table with a puzzled frown. Without a word she leaned onto it, planting her palms on several of the piles in order to crane her head and look down at the first book Roy's seated self was opening.

Whatever they were doing it was important. Roy had become hostage with urgent need. His lips had sewn themselves shut after his confession, and then he had fled to Records after ordering her to stay behind.

"What is all this?" Hawkeye asked.

Roy spoke the first thing that came to him, and it was an outrageous lie. "Hobby." Hawkeye plucked a book out from the manuscripts Roy was thumbing through and opened the archived alchemist rosters. "Don't ask," Roy said, firming his voice to something that sounded like concern. "I mean it."

"What are we going to tell, Alphonse?" Hawkeye whispered softly, taking a seat and thumbing through her book. Her thoughts had run miles ahead. Roy stopped at Records, but she kept moving. Topic after topic: the General, the secret, Edward, new research. Now it had arrived on Alphonse, and Roy felt a heavy sigh coming on. _Why exactly was it their job to do much of anything with the boy when he wasn't even an enlisted member?_

Hawkeye moved her open book aside and leaned into the table to better study the stack Roy had selected. He had chosen an outline of all alchemic certification work submitted for the last five years, general census rosters detailing their more rural outposts, and several books on alchemic ores.

Roy was flipping through the roster of alchemists with growing annoyance. "Lieutenant, what did I say." Hawkeye ignored this. "For your own good I want you to stay out of this. Go have your lunch."

Hawkeye looked up, a sad expression of concern painted across her face. "Is it very dangerous?"

"It may piss some people off." Roy admit this miserably. "So it could be that kind of dangerous, yes." He stopped, eyes focused on what he was looking for, and then he closed the book and set it aside. "Those few there, with the ore research, grab them."

Hawkeye encircled the stack of books on the table and hugged them. "Aren't—don't you want to read them?"

"No," Roy said firmly, adding his own to the few she held. "We're checking them out."

"You're taking them back to your office?" Hawkeye was shocked. Why not just put a red arrow on the door that read: WE'RE POKING OUR NOSES IN AGAIN! "Sir, we can't put them in the office. We don't have clearance to take them. We don't even have clearance to be in Records right now."

"They already know that I am involved." Roy stood and began pushing in his chair.

Hawkeye was horrified. "They don't know you're involved." She wanted to believe they didn't. If things went badly for Edward, she felt for the boy, truly she did, but it could not keep rolling up hill. _Mustang was not impenetrable._

"I can't tell him to kill," Roy said, abandoning his chair. He dropped his palm on top of the stack she held and leaned down so they were nearly nose to nose. "I can't tell him what he should do. I don't want him to become like me."

"You say that like you're a bad person, when you're planning to lead our country," Hawkeye whispered, voice tight with emotion. "You say that as if Edward doesn't agree you should run this country, and you know he would never agree to a bad man coming into power." Roy recoiled, taken with the statement. _Yes, young, but innocently astute, Edward was waving your flag, wasn't he._ "You don't have to forget that you disagree with some of the choices you made, and pretend you think they were right." She couldn't forget hers. Knew she couldn't atone for hers. _His disease was her disease, and her disease was his._ "But maybe you should start giving yourself the credit you deserve for becoming the person you are." Out of the burning flesh and rubble came the staggering man who had previously wandered in with the bright and optimistic faith that mankind possessed the ability to value a life.

Hawkeye lifted her hand and set it on her stack of books. The tip of her middle finger touched Roy's index so lightly she felt like a feather _._ "If you had not made those choices, you don't know you would be who you are today." _She had stood in the death with him, and her eyes saw the crisp white of his gaze, and not the bright red of his blood painted self._ "Edward will become his decisions, the same way you have become yours, and you will both be stronger."

Said the mass murderer to the mass murderer.

The single door to their Record's Room flew back and slammed a near shelf so hard it stuck. Sandwiched inside the tall threshold was the lumbering form of a grinning Major Armstrong, and he strolled forward spewing a speech of pleasant greetings.

"What can I do for you, Major?" Roy asked, speaking quickly and raising his voice so the man would hear him over the gushing salutations.

"Colonel, I hate to bother you while you are so busy," Armstrong said, abandoning his etiquette diarrhea. "But I wanted to let you know I saw young Alphonse Elric yesterday, and I think I might have accidentally given him reason to suspect with all that has been going on." Armstrong looked remorse stricken. His broad shoulders and arms were heavy saw mill logs stuffed into a military uniform, and curiously the mustache seemed to be drooping.

Roy was silent with confusion. _Reason to suspect?_ With the laundry list of items one could reasonably suspect upon, he had no idea which one the Major was trying to allude to, and he feared asking. Alphonse was a bloodhound for his brother's antics, and irritably Roy had to be honest and face the fact he did not think his planning could outmatch Alphonse's sniffing.

Discreetly he glanced to Hawkeye, and she glanced back. She also had no idea.

"What is this you're researching?" Armstrong asked, leaning forward to better see the stack under Hawkeye's right arm. "I might be able to lend an hour of my time this afternoon, the art of successful investigation has been passed down in my family for generations."

"No, that will be fine," Roy said, so quickly he immediately felt embarrassed. "But I haven't been able to find Fullmetal anywhere, have you seen him?" _Deflection._

"Edward?" Armstrong asked, gruff voice sounding puzzled. "I have not."

"The art of retrieval has been passed down in your family, hasn't it?" Roy asked. He was stepping out onto a limb he was certain had to be there.

Sounding comfortable, Armstrong said, "So you've heard." _Of course we've heard._

"Think you can retrieve him for me?" Roy asked, grinning. "He's rather elusive when he wants to be."

"For generations the Armstrong family has served both country and community with this art, I'll find him before noon." Armstrong was leaving as fast as he came, and Roy felt relief watching the man go.

"It's bad enough I have you pestering me, Lieutenant," Roy said softly. Hawkeye was also watching Armstrong depart. "When Ed sobers up he is going to decide he needs to learn about his target. He will convince himself it will make him more efficient if he takes the mission he's already decided he's going to take, but it won't." Roy turned to her, and she sat holding the pile of books looking sullen. "It will haunt him."

"If we take the books, they'll know Edward shared classified information with you." Hawkeye's voice was sad. It held the dampened tone of a beggar. _Please_ , it said, _please don't make me stop you._ That was her role as the First Lieutenant. It was her role in the military, and her current purpose for living. Perhaps, her role since birth. Plausibly everything she had done with her entire life was leading her deeper into these moments, and today she would hypocritically stand in Records and refuse to allow her commanding officer to sign out classified documents in effort to protect someone he cared about. The way she was protecting someone she cared about.

It was a crime to share classified information, and it was a crime to receive it and not report it. If Roy Mustang suddenly removed all the records associated with this case from the hall, the committee would know why, and all the convincing pleas of the youngest state alchemist would fall on deaf ears, because Mustang was a seasoned adult, and he knew the rules.

"I will take the books," Roy said confidently. "I didn't say I was signing them out." Hawkeye felt this was worse. "But if I have them, than he won't be able to get to them."

"You're largely misconstruing what I meant when I asked you to help him."

"I am not," Roy said flawlessly. He left the table and walked to the back wall. There were several windows spotted between shelving, and because the walls of the room were undoubtedly constructed with built in transmutations to stop alchemy driven theft, he was planning to grow the wall up over a window and hide the books inside.

Roy Mustang would never look at these books. Roy Mustang would never steal these books. They would remain safe and in the room they went in. Ed would simply think he couldn't follow the Dewy Decimal System.

Watching Roy grope the bottom of the window and wall from the research table Hawkeye understood what the plan was before the transmutation started. Then she tried to keep the small smile it caused from her face. Carried the books over and stood in wait while Roy drew slowly and steadily into the wall beneath the sill.

"Have a little faith," Roy teased, and her smile widened.

Outside the sun was now high in the sky, and she knew back in their office their food was waiting like gold amongst beggars. They would be lucky if it was entirely intact.

The skyline of Central's business district jutted upward in large building wide squares cresting the walls of Central Command. Outside on the green laws two units were doing laps, and closer toward the building the right parking lot could easily be seen. Curious, Hawkeye took a step toward the window, and Roy smiled when the side of her hand brushed against his hair as she looked out.

"Major Armstrong has found Edward."

Roy stopped drawing to choke a laugh. Down below them it was just possible to make out a patch of red in the backseat of Roy's car. It was motionless, but the Major was talking energetically at the closed back window.

"Is Fullmetal awake?" Roy asked, sparking the transmutation.

The window ledge raised the height of the tallest book spine, and Roy reached upward for the books. Hawkeye offered them over with a small shrug, and Roy packed them into his hiding place. Ed would not be confused with the missing material for long, but being they had so little time, it might just be long enough.

"What's the Major doing?" Roy asked.

"Taking off his shirt."

Roy sealed the books into the wall and stood up at Hawkeye's side. Alongside his car Armstrong was stripping off his shirt. It was clear the Major was making loud announcements, and he gave the door handle an investigatory jiggle that sent Ed scrambling.

Ed crawled out the far passenger side looking half asleep and deranged. His mouth was going a mile a minute until he realized Armstrong was shirtless. Then he backed up, ready to run.

Armstrong only managed one forward step, arms outstretched for a hug, when Ed took off in the opposite direction.

"Seems as if he's sobered up," Hawkeye said.

Ed was racing down the main walkway. His red coat a cape behind him.

* * *

Roy left Records with a sense of accomplishment. Although it could be said they were still very much in the heat of this mess, they were managing to control an impressive bit of it, and you had to take life's small victories and be proud of them. For the moment everything was in order, and his mind returned to the tasks of the day, and eagerly anticipated lunch.

In route to his office, Hawkeye left his side and deviated to their hall's break room where Fuery was visible complaining about Major Armstrong while chomping through his sandwich. On sight of her Fuery broke into hearty coughing, and beating his own chest, waved frantically for her to approach with a pointed expression that said: _Hey you! We have business to discuss!_

Roy wanted no part in today's noon shenanigans and left her.

He returned to his empty office and sat down at his desk with a sense of optimism. Set in the middle was the wonderfully familiar sight of the wax paper wrapped sandwich, and tiny disposable container of mustard. When lunch was right, the day was better. The mustard container could have been a crown, and the sandwich a scepter, and things would not have been nicer.

With nothing but the ticking clock, Roy rolled his sleeves up smiling, and pulled his sandwich closer. It left the mustard abandoned on the list of high caliber ammunition, and in reach for it, Roy stopped with sudden understanding he was being watched. More accurately, that he was not alone. A purposeful second presence had been waiting for him, and Roy lifted his gaze with a cunning smirk.

This specific sensation was aged and familiar, and strategically aligned in the blind spot of the opened office door, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and smirking, was Fullmetal.

A smug twitch took the corner of Ed's mouth when Roy looked up, and like a cat suddenly spotted on the highest most unlikely shelf, Ed looked pleased. _Bet you didn't think I could get up here, huh._

Roy brought his mustard closer, and Ed left his surly stance and approached with slow heavy footfalls. The smell of whisky came with him, but it had significantly decreased. Ed's black outfit looked somehow wrinkled even though the leather pants made the boy's legs tight form fitting stalks. With a pounding head ache and slightly puffy eyes, Ed's coat seemed to have expanded too sizes, and the boy was swimming in it.

"Hello, Fullmetal," Roy said calmly, opening his sandwich. It was freshly baked Italian bread, soft, and dusted with sesame seeds. It was reason to gloat. "This is my lunch."

Ed dropped into the chair facing Roy's desk as if his legs suddenly gave out. Then he stretched them forward and slouched so far down his chin was resting on his chest. Ed was silent, but Roy could sense the boy thinking. Roy envisioned Ed's brain like the interior of a large clock half flooded with alcohol. Everything was still working, but watching the cogs pick up sudsy liquid as they turned, and the chains go down dry and come up dripping made you skeptical this would end well. It wasn't that things were necessarily going to break down, but it made you want to presume the time would be off for a while.

Roy broke the silence when his sandwich was fully unwrapped. "You have a choice, Ed." He spoke with the crisp tone of an announcement.

Ed echoed a flat, "Choice." Roy popped his mustard container and took a sniff. It was sweet. Homemade with a bit of a kick to it. "Choice between what?" Ed asked sourly. _What choice? What freaking choice? This wasn't a game of choice, this was a game of do what we say or we fucking make you wish you did. We'll make you sorry, so sorry, you didn't._

Roy lifted the top of his loaf and readied the mustard container in a slant several inches above it. "If you aren't able to see your options, than you aren't ready for the answers." Ed closed his eyes with something of both irritation and exhaustion. Roy poured a fat yellow line down the pink and brown of the roast beef. "You have to put it straight down the middle. If you zigzag it gets everywhere," Roy said. "There's a trick to it." He nestled the bun back on top. "There is a trick to most everything in life."

"Yes," Ed said softly, exhaling agreement with clear agitation. _Yes, great philosopher, did you pull that line from a Cracker Jack box?_ "What would you have me do?" Ed asked flatly.

Roy lifted his sandwich and paused. He was waiting for this moment. It was the inevitable. Not the panic sputtered, what-do-I-do, or the concerned grieving, what-do-I-do, it was the skillful planning, what-do-I-do. The serious, what-do-I-do. This question was being asked to be answered, and the answer was going to sway the outcome.

Hawkeye's expression flittered through Roy's mind. _The opinions of a murderer…_

A twelve year old Edward Elric standing wet from rain, and sorrow ridden in a bloody alley was next. _It's an ugly world out there, and from here on out, it's only going to get uglier on the path you've chosen._ And what a way to say it. A hard path. A difficult journey. A test of character. These phrases were meant to summarize this, but they felt laughably short. No one said, this will be a difficult journey, you may be lied to, manipulated, and emotionally wound so tight you would gladly just bend over and take one long butt fucking to have it all end. No one said that. No one told you the truth.

Roy gave a small bitter snort of a laugh after his own thought. _Imagine if you did say that to someone._ They'd never ask for your loony advice again. _Your accurate, loony advice._

"Can't you give me orders?" Ed asked sourly, and Roy also found this humorous. Edward Elric hated orders, but there was something comfortable about them, wasn't there? Something even nice when they came from the bastard Colonel?

"My orders would be outranked."

Ed ignored this. "What would you do?" Ed asked. "What would Mustang do?" Roy was silent. "Or, if I were Hawkeye, what would you have me do? If you were me, and I were Al, what would you have me do? If you were me, and I were you, years ago…" Ed hesitated, and a look of nervous uncertainty snuck in behind his eyes before he said, "…from Ishval, what would you have me do?"

Roy was silent, and a small bead of mustard slowly began collecting at the base of his raised sandwich.

Ed gave a slow heavy inhale before lifting his gloved left hand and scrubbing at his swollen eyes. "I've decided I'm going to go down to Records and…see if I can find him." Ed squeezed the bridge of his nose as if his sinuses were aching. "I won't sign in I'll just walk in, and…I figure…I'll see if I can find him. Or…if I can trace through the type of alchemy he studies he should be listed somewhere." Ed dragged his hand down his face and gave it a good scrub before leaning it into his palm and sighing. "Or I can look for his certification projects, and just find his name in the base he's stationed…that's a start."

"If you investigate this, you're going to learn about the man you're about to kill," Roy said, tone soft and slow. It was stating the obvious, but there was something not so obvious about all this. "If you can't find something in these books to escape this mission…" Roy said, locking his gaze with Ed's. His words were ringing clear, and Ed's expression was sinking into tense anxiety. "…and you won't, you won't find an escape. You're going to kill him anyway." This was the inevitable. "So your efforts will actually increase the risk of this becoming harder, making your job harder, Edward. Try thinking about this like a soldier."

"Tactically?"

"Obediently."

Ed gave a small uncomfortable shift in his chair, and pushed himself upward with his legs until he was sitting normally. _But, I don't want to do that,_ said the twelve year old, and Roy could hear it like it was yesterday. Roy silently deemed these virgin memories. The first of the firsts, and he did not openly or readily share them. They were something personal, and they were also something special. It was Edward's youth, his childhood, and even though it was unconventional, it was how it happened, and Roy understood that with no parent, he was one of the few people to have such memories. He was one of the few people who could say, _Oh yes, I remember him when he was that age, and did you know, that when he was twelve I once gave him an order and looking stung and disappointed he responded, but I don't want to do that?_

How silly, or, how wonderful.

"I have thought long and hard on how to answer," Roy said, sandwich still poised above the wax paper placemat. "It is okay for you to ask me for advice." Ed didn't move. He was past feeling okay, or even not okay, in this situation. _Where do I go to make that trade again? I'll accept a butt fucking to get out of this._ "But I realize Fullmetal, that with every life changing event, the only way to be comfortable with the decision you make years from now, is to make it yourself." Ed's brow tightened with a bit of confusion. "I can't suggest what should be done," Roy said, feeling disappointed and sympathetic. From his side of the desk, he conducted a ballet of both Granting-Approval and Taking-Action for his charge, but unfortunately, his role of watching and doing were not always allowed to occur together. He straightened his gaze and locked it with Ed's. "But I will support your decision," he said sincerely, he would not be allowed action here. "No matter what you decide, Ed."

"You don't mean that," Ed snapped quickly, looking stung. _Mustang was jumping ship on him!_

From the bottom of Mustang's sandwich a bead of mustard finally let loose, and started a steady beat of dripping.

Ed's eyes widened slightly, but their gaze locked them together as powerfully as chain about their heads and hearts. "You don't mean that," Ed repeated. It was easier not to make a decision than to make one! It was easier to pass the buck hiding behind philosophical nonsense about growing stronger and growing up! Why was he being left alone now!

 _The mustard continued dripping_. "How do you know I'll do something you can support?" Ed asked, voice unsteady with eye twitching anxiety. _In a steady constant tapping._ His panic was mounting. "What if you disagree with my decision?" _Drip, drip, drip._

Mustang was silent. He didn't move, and he didn't speak. Below the sprouting bangs of his jet black hair his eyes sat in an unblinking unwavering stare like two stones, and there was nothing he needed to say. Ed's brow tightened, lowering into his eyes, narrowing his vision, and in a soft vulnerable tone overrun with gratitude, Ed whispered, "You're serious."

The mustard stopped dripping.

Their conversation moved to silent mutual understanding, and Ed's jaw tightened as he stepped into adult terrain and fought what little urge to speak was left. There were some things in the world that went unspoken, and they were sometimes the most important.

 _The opinions of a…said the…to the…_

"Okay," Ed whispered, swallowing a deep throat clearing gulp. "Then I'm breaking into General Keshow's office tonight, and I'm going to steal my mission folder and see just what bastard wants this man dead and what for."

Roy involuntarily tightened the grip on his sandwich with immediate stomach-clenching scolding frustration. A small blob of mustard squirted out onto his thumb and sat looking like a piece of gold.

 _Dammit._

He had not anticipated this.

* * *

I love love love Roy and Ed chatter. They crack me up, and I never know what I'm going to get. Also, so very much enjoy the Colonel and his First Lieutenant.

Please be kind and leave a review if you read.

Chapter 13: _Deposit of Charity_ , will be posted June 2, 2017.

Hope to see you there.


	14. Deposit of Charity

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Thirteen  
 _Deposit of Charity_

\- mirage -

Years ago in his youth, when Roy read down his military contract, the tiny text printed there promised and reassured him he was finding the right path.

Within the military was the opportunity of complete devotion to the higher duty of serving and protecting. Purpose to his lifespan when it was otherwise uncertain he might ever truly have one. Ever truly make an impact.

It was finding a straight road in a circular intersection.

Never was there any mention of the real outlines of his job. Polite political statements explained what he learned to be the real life of a soldier: Unwavering loyalty and service to your country, meant unquestionably following orders. _No matter what._ From him, it took most everything. The dream of protecting what he could not, left him much earlier than he thought he would, and in its wake, the fierce protection to covet and spare what he could, came much faster than he could understand.

One little war gave him a private office, desk, and with it, staff. Obeying commands, gave way to issuing commands, gave way to manipulating intention and strategy. Of realism rooted in cynicism he found himself dedicated. To abolishing the corruption he couldn't stomach, to implementing the equity people so badly deserved. If he could write the laws, there would be none he detested. None that were not right, and it would become so easy. Practicing unwavering loyalty and service to your country would mean: making the rules.

So it wasn't in his job description. Not a role, responsibility, priority, or obligation, to deviate or allow unnecessary risk to that which he had been toiling after for years. Yet, Edward came to belong to him. The boy's only crime ignorance, and his, selfishness, as he plucked a twelve-year-old from a twelve-year-old's life, set him in the office, and said to the team, "Here."

Edward was his greatest asset. Sometimes, his greatest threat. And so he tended. Governed everything, and anything. When Havoc kept complaining, when Falman kept criticizing, when Fuery kept asking, with disbelief, "We don't really want him in here with us, listening to all this bad stuff, do we?"

Had no reply when Mustang responded with, "Is that what we do now? Bad stuff?" Wasn't this valiant country-serving stuff? Honor and duty stuff?

No one was ever scolded. How could you, it was so unfair. When Fullmetal went about talking, and making noise, and moving when it wasn't necessary, and asking questions when it wasn't time, and ignorantly blundering all levels of social calendar and function, so Breda wore unabashed baffled and disgusted expressions, and nothing was said. How could you criticize their skepticism and concern when it was so well placed, and she was so angry.

"I am sure he will catch on." Roy had tried to answer her. "Quicker." Made excuses. "Surely he'll start catching on quicker."

"I don't really think he should be, catching on, sir." Fullmetal awakened a side in Hawkeye she wasn't ready to acknowledge. A side she found humiliating in the office and had been merciless. "I didn't join the military to be a housewife. I didn't join the military to be a mother. I am not some short-brained domesticated whipping-post. I am a sniper, Colonel. A damn fine sniper.

He pacified. "I know, Lieutenant." Pacified and pacified. "I quite clearly agree."

But she couldn't handle it. Everything was an issue. She was compelled, and she hated it. Would sit, pencil tapping and tapping. Unseeing eyes staring down at her work while Havoc tested the waters as to how far he could tease the boy. Was Fullmetal as gullible as Fuery? Could we get him to go outside and lick the winter flagpole?

In his memories, Roy was certain he had done everything he could. Ordered Falman to stop being disgusted. Ordered Breda to stop making faces. Ordered Fuery to stop asking questions. Ordered Havoc to stop teasing Fullmetal in ways Fullmetal couldn't understand, and tried to rise to her needs because it wasn't fair. To her. To Edward. To his staff which he prioritized higher than all else. Yet it went on.

Days, weeks, years, until every urgency, and instinct, and reaction, and desperation, became normality. Became reality, and this regiment-protecting, office-refereeing, mission-accepting, shit spoon-feeding, life, was the contract, was the career path, was the job description Roy never imagined he'd have.

Sitting in his vacant office, exhausted, at nearly one in the morning, he remembered himself as a young boy. Who didn't know a single god damn thing. Had gone and taken all of this on with a retard's grin and retard's ambition.

Then the phone rang.

The finely crafted brass bell screaming in the silence until Roy snatched it and held it to his ear.

"Are you staying at your desk?" Ed whispered over the line, tone accusatory and suspicious.

"I planned to," Roy said flatly. "Although I'm just barely resisting the temptation to get up and skip around the place while there's space."

Ed muttered an annoyed, "What the fuck," before scolding an angry, "Stop messing around."

"Fullmetal, if I was not at my desk, I could not have answered my desk phone." Late night fatigue was chipping at Roy'ss patience. "Have you seen anything on your end?" His office was on the fourth floor, and General Keshow's was on the eighth.

"No, you?"

"No."

For colonels with the ambition to become Fuher, breaking into the office of committee resigning Generals was out of the question, but there were no laws against working late. In the silent clock ticking office Roy's only company was his spread out untouched Arsenal report, and the moon's windowpane carpeting.

"While I am gone, you'll keep an eye on Alphonse, right?" Ed asked.

"Maybe."

Ed gave a small laugh, and it was static over the phone. "Are you always this funny late at night?" Ed was desperate for humorous chatter with the weight of reality sitting squarely in their laps.

"I can't say. Usually I'm sleeping." Roy stared across the office at the closed door. "Of course, we'll make sure he stays home and out of the limelight so he doesn't suspect. I'll make up something about keeping you in the office. I'll raise my voice and use unflattering terms so he thinks I'm angry, and says nothing so as not to get you into more trouble."

Sounding impressed, Ed said, "Hey, that's a good idea."

"That's a repeating pattern."

Being on the fourth floor, there was little one could do to assist a burglary four floors up, but Roy believed there was something to be said about attendance and what that means in terms of support. What it might mean when good ideas were needed, if certain people began panicking, or if ugly folders contained even uglier reports.

"What time is your train?" Roy asked. His safest location was his own office. Ed's was the eighth floor.

"Zero seven hundred."

Ed had hidden himself before close of business in the only place possible on the eighth floor. With nothing but locked offices, and one classified Records' room, he had tucked himself into the utility closet.

"I think we should start now," Ed said.

"We wait until three as discussed."

It was a very narrow room. Wide enough for one person, there were a few shelves of cleaning supplies, a broom, a mop, and a duster.

"Three is too late. I need to go now."

"Three, Ed."

Roy considered cracking jokes about Ed being lucky enough to squeeze himself into the mop bucket, before realizing dumbly, that utility closets did not have phones.

And so the familiar feeling, became a familiar thought.

 _NOT IN MY…"_ Edward, where are you right now?" _…JOB DESCRIPTION._

"The closet," Ed whispered quickly.

"What phone is this?"

"The closet phone."

"The closet doesn't have a damn phone."

Ed muffled a breath of agitation. Not agitation he was caught, because he was using asinine lies, but because he did not want to discuss being caught.

"Fullmetal, I do not approve of us deviating from plans which have been discussed and agreed upon."

"But I can't wait all night!"

"If you want my support, then you are to follow what orders I give."

"Your orders are outranked."

"You're in General Keshow's office, aren't you." Roy dropped his brow into his warm palm and held his eyes. He had planned to sweep the halls, the elevators, the stair well, listen for any sounds, and check the windows on each side of the building, all before giving Ed the okay to move. "Your impulsiveness is an unnecessary risk." Ed grunted miserably, because it was, and they both knew it.

"Forgive me if I don't have the luxury of just, sitting around," Ed said, abandoning his whispering for a low hushed tone. "But I have a god damn train to catch in a few hours! It took me a lot longer to get in here than we had calculated, so be happy I started earlier!"

And then there was that. The fact that, at this moment, Ed was not leaving the closet, no Ed had left the closet a while ago, and was now calling Roy's office from General Keshow's office.

Roy envisioned Ed sitting in the man's chair with his ankles crossed on the man's desk, and his nails scrubbing at the lapel of his shirt. "Going from the closet into an office wasn't bad but…" Yes, that was simply alchemy on a lock. An alchemist's lock, but still relatively basic for the Fullmetal Alchemist. "But then the walls were all booby trapped." Roy envisioned large knives dropping from the ceiling, swinging through the air, and clipping Ed's bangs as the boy did acrobatics to avoid them.

"What do you mean?" Surely that couldn't have happened.

"I mean, the architects built these offices with all sorts of arrays inside the walls stopping my transmutations. I couldn't remove small pieces, or make holes to climb through. I couldn't get them to come down at all. I had to start deconstructing everything."

"Son of a bitch, Ed." What a mess that would make: drywall crumbling down like chalk, insulation floating about like cotton candy, electrical wires everywhere like jumping rope. The plan was to transmute small burglar sized holes in discrete places so Ed could wiggle through. The act was something of a burrowing through all offices leading to General Keshow's, and as long as they were all empty and the light from the transmutation was contained, there was little risk of being spotted.

"Hey, give me some credit," Ed said, head growing fat. "I'm good. You know I'm good. They'll never know it was me, I promise. They'll never even know it was done." Roy imagined Ed turning sideways and stepping through framing two-by-fours. Passing over and under hand drawn arrays left in absurd places to seal high ranking offices from this type of…mutiny?

The vision was absurd, but Roy believed Ed's cocky whispered voice, and was mildly irritated with a bit of jealousy and pride that Ed was actually good enough to deconstruct and reconstruct walls with no trace of himself in a hive of skilled alchemists.

"But…" Ed said, tone changing to suggest the first obstacle. "He has a lot of file cabinets." Roy was expecting this. "Lots and lots of file cabinets." Roy had told Ed to expect this. "And they have unusual locks." Ed did not sound as confident with file cabinets as he did with walls. "I don't know where to look."

"I don't know either," Roy said, feeling stumped. How would either of them know where to look.

"See, the problem is,' Ed said slowly, sounding uneasy. "If I have to look through them all…"

 _If you have to look through them all what?_ Roy thought. _You want me to come help? You want a ranking Colonel to break into a General's office and pilfer through his files?_

"There will be a lot of files." Roy repeated his earlier directions. "Start on a few, and see if you can guess as to the cataloging system. Then you need to just do your best."

Ed was unsatisfied with this. Doing your best, did not always mean success. _Mom was testimony of that._

"I can't kill this man," Ed whispered.

"And yet you may have to," Roy countered quickly. "We have plenty of time."

"We don't have plenty of time." Ed was right, and Roy heard worry breaking into the Ed's voice. "He's going to put me on that train," Ed whispered. "This is my only chance. Tonight is my only chance. You're a ranking officer, don't you know how these fat-cats manage their filing systems?" Ed was growing panicked. "This is god damn ridiculous! They're not even labeled!" Ed was not a good worrier. When he worried, Roy pictured Ed as a little tornado the size of his body. No one could think with the sound of such wind, and the chaos of everything whipping about, so he had to change this. He had to stop the storm, and get Ed to focus.

"You sound like a few locks are intimidating you, Fullmetal," Roy said superciliously. Ed was caught off guard, and sputtered a sound of insulted surprise. "Am I really going to have to come up there and finish the job?"

"Cut the shit," Ed snapped. "These aren't just, some _,_ locks. They're unique alchemy locks, and not one of them are the same!"

"A lock is a lock. This job is perfect for you. A little obstacle, for a little alchemist."

Ed was dead silent, before an outraged, "What!" was breathed into the phone. "Are you seriously pulling lame-ass short jokes in the dead of fucking night! Lots of kids are small when they're younger, and then they have growth spurts!" Roy began a soft, but audible, chuckle. "Just come on up here, and I'll kick your ass, Mustang." Roy could hear Ed moving, and there was the sound of metal jostling against metal. Most likely the automail hand fumbling with the locks. "Just make sure you take it easy. Wouldn't want your old man joints giving out while you're on the stairs, you piece of crap."

Roy covered his mouth with a gloved hand, and sat grinning and listening to Ed struggle through lock after lock. Ed opened five of them, and when he slowed down with a bit of uncertainty, Roy added a log to the fire by asking, "What growth spurt?"

"Fucking, ass," Ed snarled, tearing into the file cabinet. Roy could hear Ed flicking his way through the long drawers, reading the folder tabs. "Fucking…" Drawer after drawer. "Fucking asshole, Mustang."

Ed moved around the office. Roy heard the grasp on the phone constantly changing. It was in the left hand, then the right, cradled between Ed's cheek and shoulder, tucked under Ed's arm. Ed wasn't diligently scanning through one file cabinet, he was gaining a sense of how they were set up and finally came to a standstill in front of the few containing employee records. Then Ed was quiet, reading and sorting. Flipping through and plucking up items of interest, and opening and closing drawers, before the sound of diligent research progressed to worried oversight. "Did I miss it?" Ed whispered to himself. "You can't think of a system other than alphabetical, right?"

"Not a good one," Roy answered. "You've found the personnel section?" Ed's reading silence was confession. "The room is dark, sort carefully."

"I don't see him in here."

"Carefully," Roy instructed again.

"This is the third fucking pass I'm making through the cabinet!" Ed tried to follow directions. The sound of ruffling papers continued, and it was in a delicate and cautious speed. The casual loitering of one with a boring magazine, but it didn't last. They grew faster. _Where was it!_ They grew insistent. _It must be right here, dammit!_ They grew fear driven, and starving, and lung collapsing. Roy remained quiet to give Ed time, but the maddening hint that things were wrong came with the sounds repeating.

It was the same few pages. Roy had turned enough pages in his life to know this was not a quick digging into a folder, this was an obsessive back to front, and front to back. Checking for something, missing something, looking for something. _Front to back, back to front. Where the fuck is it!_

"There…" Ed whispered, papers flying. "There isn't anything in here!" _Front to back, back to front._ "His name is not on the roster! He doesn't have a file! There is no mission detail!"

Objectively, Ed wasn't the keenest and most observant person out there, and Roy had to believe that. With a sharp tone to grab Ed's attention, but still a compassionate one, he said, "Ed, slow down and look carefully. It could be disguised."

"I am looking carefully!" Ed did not sound as if careful was a part of anything he was doing. "I am motherfucking telling you, its motherfucking not here!" Roy brought a hand to his temples and tried to think. It had to be in the man's office. They might be unethical, and may be corrupt, but there was always a paper trail. General Keshow did not fear anyone breaking into his office, and if they did break in, he certainly didn't fear his mission details being found. Those above him weren't being kept in the dark, they were in on the plan. What was there to hide really? You could put your order to kill in the file cabinet, keep it unlocked, and that was fine and dandy.

"I want you to check the roster again," Roy said, keeping a level headed tone. Ed sounded like a tea kettle tossing itself about a stove top to keep from whistling.

The sound of something being slammed down to mumbled curses, and something else being yanked up could be heard before a few papers crinkled. Roy could envision Ed fisting whatever he was holding so it would be fit for nothing but a gerbil cage when he was done with it.

"Okay!" Ed's voice was strained. "I'm looking at the roster again!" This was obedience. In a time of panic when Ed found the idea of looking at the roster stupid, and time-wasting, he was doing so on blind faith this might be a good idea he didn't understand because: ROY SAID SO.

"Carefully, and slowly, look through the names. We have enough time to look at the names," Roy coached. He could hear Ed's metal finger dragging down the list. "We need to be certain it's not on there." Ed was silent while he read.

"It's not here," Ed said quickly. He had reached the bottom and Roy heard the roster be tossed aside. "He's not on the roster, I told you that!" Roy was nodding to his empty office and phone as if Ed were in front of him. As if Ed could see his calm action and calm demeanor, and grow calmer because of it. "They took him off the roster somehow! They fucking buried him already! They think I'm going to put him in the ground! They think I'm going to lay him flat! That's how sure they are!" Ed sounded more frightened he was contemplating that option, than insulted. "How could they have done that?" Then there was fear. Fear we could erase an entire person just by taking their name off a page. "So fast."

And they were fast weren't they. Fast and judicious when they wanted to be, and forgetful and confused when they wanted to be.

"You can't just remove someone's name and think they'll disappear along with it," Ed whispered. "People must know him. His Unit…" Ed gave a heavy breath into the phone, and it sounded like a gust of heavy wind. "…would know him…his…family…would."

"If he has been removed from the roster they are preparing for a military crime," Roy said confidently. "Edward, you need to understand they are laying the foundation for you." Ed strangled a choked squeaking noise that sounded ridiculously like the tea kettle strangling itself. "I know it's of no comfort, but this does mean they are preparing to aid and support you."

"This is not a valiant mission!" Ed turned his mouth into the phone with repulsed disgust the small twinge of respect he thought he just heard in Roy's voice was actually there. "You loyal boot-licking dog, this is murder, and there is nothing honorable about murder."

So says the soon-to-be murderer to the murderer.

"I think you should leave his office."

"But I don't have the mission detail!" Ed cried, flabbergasted. Roy was silent, Ed was breathing in lung dropping scoffs as if this were premature abandonment of a good idea. "I didn't find anything yet!"

"That's not true," Roy said. "You found exactly what there is to find." Ed's line went silent and Roy looked to his office clock. It was nearly three, and in four hours Ed needed to catch a train. "Go home to your brother." He gave pause for Ed to speak, and when nothing came, he disconnected.

* * *

In the moonlit night Ed walked back to his dorm. Windy, the lack of overcast had dropped the temperature, and nose and ears pink and crisp with cold, Ed stepped into the apartment and found it darker than Central's streets.

Outside the lampposts stood like lined soldiers, but inside there was only the breath of the moon slipping in through the windows. Alphonse had somehow already managed to set down an interior welcome mat, and standing on it, Ed stared at the expanded square footage and two bedroom doors.

Yes, two; _because you can't keep your dirty hands to yourself._

Bundled in the narrow twin bed of the second room Alphonse listened to Ed's boots enter the apartment and stop. Hoped the welcome mat would catch all of whatever Ed brought in with him, and waited.

Damp and raw with disinfecting chemicals, the apartment smelled like an empty swimming pool. The stench was awful, but opening the windows made things unbearably frigid, and Alphonse had resigned to wedging small pieces of tissue into his noise. Embraced the fact his home smelled like the drain of a Clean Room, and reminded himself it was because his brother loved him.

His brother took his boots off, because his brother loved him. His brother walked softly through the apartment at a slow depressed speed and didn't shut the bathroom door behind himself, because his brother put him first.

Lying awake, and feeling strong at a comfortable ninety-eight degrees Alphonse listened to Ed brush his teeth, take a piss, and wash his hands and face, before entering his own bedroom. It was possible that Ed was so tired he was wandering to his bed so he could collapse face first, on top of the covers, and act as a corpse until morning. Or, as it seemed to be, Ed instead was changing quickly into clean pajamas before drifting to Alphonse's doorway as if the presence of the wall between their rooms puzzled him.

Alphonse smiled in the dark. He could hear what Ed was doing, and understood it. _Barely any movement, slow even breathing: Sadness._ Had the advantage of years trapped behind a viewfinder to the sensation of pressing his ear up against a wall. His senses were strong, stronger than his brothers, and although he didn't like to admit it, he worried his heart was as well.

Cheerfully Alphonse gave a peaceful sleepy sigh, and asked, "Long day, Nii-san?"

Ed didn't move, as Alphonse had anticipated, because Ed had been sure Alphonse was sleeping. "You don't want a shower?" Alphonse added. This was a guilty request, because things were cleaner with showers.

Ed approached the side of his bed, and Alphonse remained still. He didn't need to roll over and face his brother to understand things. _Slower breathing, longer breaths: Worry._ "Oh, I see," Alphonse said playfully. "It was a super long day than."

Ed grabbed the comforter with graceless aggression, yanked it up, and plopped down into the open space before covering himself. "Oh, I see," Alphonse said again, smiling towards his bedroom wall with Ed snuggling backward so their spines aligned. "You must have something bothering you with a day like that."

Ed elbowed his pillow as if it offended him. Jerking it up alongside Alphonse's and laid his head down. "Is it very important?" Alphonse asked, with genuine curiosity. Ed pulled the blankets to his shoulders. "It is, huh. Is it something you can tell me about?" Alphonse listened carefully. _Slow exhale, long pause, slow inhale: Guilt and Dread._ "Maybe you should tell the Colonel," Alphonse said, becoming worried.

That afternoon the Major had dropped by, and Alphonse was surprised anyone really knew where their new apartment was.

Major Armstrong brought them a bag of bagels. Tried to compliment the place when there was no easy way to do so, and chatted briefly. He was happy Ed's appeal went well, and encouraged them to call if they needed anything. Alphonse found it endearing, was appreciative, and not worried, until Armstrong paused in the doorway when exiting. Abruptly, and then hesitating with uncertainty he'd glanced back, hesitated again, and departed after the words, "Your brother loves you very much."

And Alphonse felt he was handed a draft notice for bad times to come. If it was one thing they had managed to screw up royally, it was love. Alphonse had to acknowledge that almost every event born of love's intensity within their life, brought about a strong destructive ramification.

He hadn't been able to manage a smile after Armstrong's words. He had stared, thoughts liquefying, anxiety rising. _What was Ed doing that now meant his love was more apparent? That Elric love was somehow again on the table like a spice they kept thinking could be used, but needed to be left alone._

"Nii-san," Alphonse whispered. "Do you think the military would mind that we're sharing a bed like this?" Alphonse was curious as to where this question might take them. He was curious as to what else was on the table. Somehow it was big enough for the Major to know about, but terrible enough to keep a secret.

Dryly, and with a sense of exhaustion, Ed muttered, "I don't care what the military thinks."

"Oh, I see." Alphonse maintained his smile. Closing his eyes he felt the weight of Ed's body tipping the mattress behind his own. "You smell like the outdoors." He changed the subject.

"I walked home."

"You were working very late. Past office hours." _So where were you?_

"Not past office hours." _I'm being vague on purpose._ "I think Mustang was still there." _Mustang was still there._ Ed took a deep breath. "Alphonse," Ed changed his tone, and it changed the room. _Even breathing, comfortable demeanor: Critical Thinking._ "How warm are you right now?"

"Ninety-eight degrees."

Alphonse felt Ed's silence come like the slow closing of a door. The gradual decent of a curtain on a stage. _So, another battle lost was it? Take a bow, you ignorant ass._ "You were hypothermic?" Ed asked.

"I was hypothermic."

"And you're now improving?"

"I am now improving."

Ed's weight shifted uncomfortably. "I have a meeting tomorrow, early." Ed moved to a new topic, and Alphonse opened his eyes with perplexed curiosity. "It will last all day, and perhaps all night."

This was a lie, and Alphonse wasn't certain if Ed could tell that he detected it. Did Ed think he was lying well enough to fool them both? Or was he carrying out the motions so he didn't have to explain where he was later.

"I don't want you to worry, Al."

Alphonse remembered Major Armstrong standing in their apartment doorway, and in his memory Armstrong now repeated, _I don't want you to worry._

"It's really not a big deal," Ed said, tone flat and unrevealing. The Major repeated these words flawlessly in Alphonse's mind. "You'll barely miss me." And I won't bring up how some days ago I had to be restrained so you could leave to Hawkeye's, and some days ago you were too weak to travel outdoors, and just yesterday you kicked me out for not acknowledging your equations when your equations were right. _As always? Younger brother._

"Oh, good," Alphonse said flawlessly. "I'm glad you told me, or else I might have worried and not known where you were." _Are you freaking serious._

The mattress shifted as Ed rolled onto his stomach. Across the bare bedroom floor was a faint white outline of the window as it took in the moonlight. To the right, a box of shadowed clumps needing to be put away. They didn't own enough furniture for two rooms, and the military moved them so quickly they weren't furnished with more than beds. It made cleaning the place easy, but it left a sad home.

Staring at the wall thinking of the mouthful of lies he was pretending to swallow, Alphonse felt Ed's slow anxiety-ridden breathing lowering Ed downward as if he were sleeping on the edge of a well, and Ed was in the bucket sinking into a dark black hole. "Nii-san," just like every time before in which he could, Alphonse grabbed the well's lever and cranked that little bucket back upward, "today I learned something new about you." Ed was silent, but he was awake. "I learned…" And how did you really say these types of things. "…that you like girl's… chests, more than their…butts."

Ed was unresponsive before a growing vibration took his chest and he turned his face into his pillow and began a low happy laugh, before croaking out, "What?" Alphonse said nothing and Ed managed a few more laughs before asking, "Their boobs? Are you asking if I like boobs?"

"I'm not asking," Alphonse said. "I'm saying today I learned that you do."

"Well, of course I do," Ed muttered, smile evident in his voice and buried half in his pillow. "What's not to like, I mean…" and then silence, before, "Wait, what the heck do you mean you learned this today? I wasn't even home."

"I found your pornographic imagery."

Ed cocked his elbow back, and Alphonse felt a fast scolding jab to the right of his spine, before Ed said, "You're saying it wrong, Alphonse." _Gee-whiz, do I have to teach you everything? "_ It's called porn. That's it, that's how you say it. And it's only one magazine, and it was a gift, and it's not really porn because it's not all that pornographic, it's more suggestive." Alphonse began giggling and Ed glared at the floor. "Don't lie, when you found it you probably turned every page, drooling."

Still laughing. "Where did you get it?"

"That's classified." Alphonse pulled the blanket up to his mouth and covered a burst of gleeful exhales. "Where did you put it?" Ed asked flatly. It had been uprooted from beneath his other mattress, tossed into a box, carried in, and dumped on the floor. When your goal was Streptococcus, Bacillus, and all bacteria execution, one old and well-loved crumpled magazine of a few tits was the least of your concerns. "Planning on keeping it?" Ed teased.

"I put it away!" Alphonse cried, yanking the blanket down from his mouth. "I didn't want guests to see it, it's so terribly rude, and you left it right out in the open, Nii-san."

Ed gave a shrug, and Alphonse felt the mattress move under the force of Ed's automail shoulder. "It's my place," Ed said, with good natured defensiveness.

"Mine too," Alphonse said, feeling the optimism and peacefulness of a smile nearly identical to the one growing up Ed's face blooming on his own. "It is our apartment, Nii-san." _Yes, it was._ "And…we're still not listening to what everyone else thinks, and we're sleeping in the same bed again."

"Shut up."

"When the military would be so mad, and Roy probably told you not to."

"He never gave me any orders for all of this."

"Because he worried it was true?"

Ed fell silent and it hurt there was a bit of weight to that question. That for a moment, the mighty Colonel, the strong and fearless Colonel, was confused and unsure about something so character driven. "No," Ed said softly. Roy had lapsed, or perhaps the correct word was waivered under what looked like medical evidence, but he had never abandoned his post on the side lines. Was as determined as always, and putting this together as always. Was on the other end of the phone…as always. No matter how this all worked out, Roy would be there, and in an odd and frightening way, Ed felt good to know that blood on his hands would not change anything. _It will all be okay, said the murderer to the murderer._

"Then why, Nii-san?"

"Because he's old, cryptic even, and set in his ways like all old fogies," Ed teased. "He's big on the honor thing, and he's too big a man to dishonor me like that."

* * *

9MM combat pistols were mass manufactured standard soldier issued weapons. Semi-automatic, with short recoil and a reversible magazine to fit any shooter, the parts were fully interchangeable, and the weapon was hard chromed and barrel bore to prevent corrosion and wear. Fully assembled and loaded it was a meager forty-one ounces. An amount so inconsequential for a weapon, Roy held one unnoticed in his uniform pocket, ammunition finger tracing the barrel in an absent back-and-forth for over twenty minutes before he considered freeing it.

At zero five hundred that morning, Ed had slipped out of bed and staggered his way to the bathroom. He showered with his forehead leaning into the wall. Brushed his teeth with his eyes closed. Stared at his flaccid penis after taking a piss and considered trying to rub one out just to feel better about the day, but the outlook for erections, just like everything else, was bleak.

Central's train station was Amestris's largest and grandest. Draw bridge to their most advanced and cosmopolitan urban concertation. With the sun just contemplating the horizon Ed entered the station as he was ordered. In slow confident steps he strolled the length of the tracks, hands in his pockets, hood up and draped about his face. His ticket was in his pocket, no other possessions were packed.

Inside the massive station dome birds nested in the high beams. Crafted with alchemy, the arching frame was elegant and powerful. Arriving trains became dwarfed, while those departing fired into the rolling green hills of the Amestrian country side beneath a stroking expansion of sky.

In the early hours the platforms were near empty. The train, not yet present for boarding, and standing motionless before the platform edge and open tracks, staring at his feet, Ed lifted his gaze and looked toward the brilliant arching mouth of the station when a shadow suddenly kicked back.

Standing at the tip of the departure platform, staring out at the country side, was a tall single figure, and Ed relished a quiet smile when even at such a distance, he recognized the frame.

"Do you know," Roy didn't wait for Ed to arrive to speak. "I haven't even eaten yet?"

"But look at this, you managed to dress yourself." The breeze on the lip outside the docking platform was kind, and Ed left the long black carpet of Roy's shadow and stopped at his side. "All fancy too." Roy was dressed for work. Uniform crisp. "You could have worn you pajama pants and slippers."

Roy sniffed with humor. Warm fronts were coming up from the South East with spring and the noise of the station fell to the expansive wind of the county side.

"You didn't have to see me off," Ed said softly, feeling foolish. They both knew it was appreciated.

"I'm not seeing you off."

Ed glanced at Roy. His eyes felt fat in the early morning hours. Hair limp in its damp state. "What," Ed asked, clueless, "you mean like, cause you're not actually looking at me?" He gestured to the glimmering crest of sun owning Roy's gaze.

This comment made Roy laugh softly, and he looked down at his youngest subordinate and remembered when Ed was younger still, and could run about below the train windows and scare Hawkeye into thinking he hadn't yet arrived. "What did you tell your brother?"

"That I have a meeting."

"Who with?"

"I didn't say."

"He didn't ask?"

Ed gave a slow shake of his head and moved his eyes back out to the world. The tracks ran until they became thin slivers of darkness in the earth. "No, he knew I was lying, but he didn't ask what I was particularly lying about."

"I almost liked him better in the armor," Roy teased, beginning a guilty chuckle. This wasn't exactly an exaggeration.

"That's not funny, Roy." The clock on the docking platform was a large white faced moon. Minute hand crawling to the nearest hour and far too close already. "I have a hotel room they booked for me, but I'm not going to use it. It's at the Corner Inn, the room is for three nights." Roy didn't say anything. "I'm not booking one so I am going to be creative and stay under the radar. I don't trust anyone." _And why should we._

Roy pulled his left hand from his pocket and extended a small bit of note paper. With his right he continued stroking the barrel of his 9MM.

Ed took the note and read the small handwritten list with a look of confusion. Ranging from basic beer to common and cheap liquor, there were seven listed types, and all of them familiar. "What are you, an alcoholic?" Ed stared at the list and felt the familiar looming intelligence of his commanding officer sweep over him from his childhood. "Is this your grocery list?" From a time when his pocket watch was heavy for his younger body, and Mustang was somehow so good at anticipating his predictable actions when he though they were spontaneous.

Roy gave another humored snort, but his eyes didn't leave the scenery. "Someone needs to educate you on Top Shelf brands, Fullmetal." Roy looked over, expression amused. "When you get back, we'll add a decent bottle to that list. My treat."

"Oh ho," Ed teased, pocketing the list quickly, and uncomfortably. "Now I know things are serious." His gaze felt too heavy to lift, and Ed stared at his feet. From behind them, his entering train screamed a long friendly whistle, and Ed felt his stomach drop. As soon as he was onboard there was no turning back. There was only this mission. And Alphonse. _So why was it so hard to choose?_

"I didn't come here to give you some sappy send off," Roy said, abruptly abandoning the countryside and turning to face Ed. The chug of the barreling locomotive was roaring, and the smoke was puffing upward into the dome where it was meant to collect in gray rain clouds. "I brought you something, and it will dampen the mood, but you need to take it."

Wind came streaming into the platform, and Ed's jacket picked up about his thighs and flattened to him like a sail. Roy's bangs blew back against his forehead, but his gaze was unfaltering.

Behind Ed, the mammoth body of his docked train came to rest, steaming. It's gleaming metal and wind-smoothed body an unstoppable force propelling him toward a fate he wasn't sure he could accept. Had committed, firmly, to granting himself every possible minute and opportunity of deliberation to be certain that what he decided to do, could be done. That Alphonse was worth it, and he understood, truly understood, that his protests would not be received as heroic, but irrelevant. The mission reassigned. The target taken out. _Him, forgotten. Rotting and hungry in a military prison._ As the train pulled away he would rush on, fully committed, or he would not, and with fear driven piss down his thigh he would return to the General with resolve. Until the very last moment he could decide.

"It doesn't have to be personal," Roy said, and his voice was just audible over the idling train. What few passengers were boarding stepped on quickly, and the whistle screamed.

Ed stepped closer to its smoking body and took hold of a support rail leading in, feeling uncertain.

A second train pulled into the station, breaks squealing, and announced itself with a brass bell. Roy took this opportunity to pull his gun from his pocket. In the white gloves it looked like a stain, and Ed was offended as it came towards him. Roy was doing more than offering it, and he came forward, grabbed the side of Ed's red coat, and stuffed it into the boy's pocket.

"You understand," Roy said softly, leading to Ed's ear, bangs flapping in the wind. "Why you want to use a bullet." Because he was a soldier. The soldier he never thought he would be, the soldier Mustang was so certain he could stop him from becoming.

"Now remember!" Roy called, pressing Ed onto the train, black strands blowing about his fierce eyes, and rigid expression. "Don't…" and then the train screamed, and the Colonel's mouth kept moving, and what he said was lost below the high pitched squealing, the chug of the steel wheels, and burning of the coals.

What he said was nothing but a few soundless mouth movements, and Ed nodded fiercely, with full commitment. He would listen to the Colonel. _He would listen._ He would do as he was told if from no other mouth than this mouth.

"Okay!" Ed called back. "I'll remember!"

* * *

Wow….what can I really say.

An unprecedented and unexpected break in my posting – apologies, apologies, apologies, to everyone! Although I wasn't expecting to drop off the planet on this chapter, I hope you were glad to see it and enjoyed, since it's…well, let's face it, what I was required to post since it was the next chapter! – Really, I'm just so glad you guys weren't left hanging anywhere cruel! Again, I'm so sorry for this never-before MIA. There is no reason to think it will ever happen again.

Please feel free to leave a review sans any mention of this story/chapter and rightfully complain. -_^

Chapter 14: _Ducks In A Row,_ will be posted August 11, 2017.

I will be there. Promise.

* * *

 **Short Explanatory Rant** _Feel free to skip as it will discuss nothing about this story.  
_ For those of you who would like an explanation for all, be prepared, this rant is honest.

It all started with the long, oh my god so long, birth of my closest, absolute closest friend's first son, (he's healthy and so adorable), and then life was suddenly too chaotic to organize immediately. It just gets away from you! My job continues to be so wildly demanding, and I've been traveling for work, and simultaneously am now writing a Soul Eater piece titled, The Moon and The Fish, which I'm very excited about. (I know, right? Soul Eater of all things, good grief. Netflix anime is like poison! If I get home too late and sleepy, and the next thing I know I'm on the couch, like: why not, we'll watch this, its right here, who cares, and on goes, anything!) So without boring you with any granular details, which are complicated and plenty, this is a high altitude summary, which most likely makes my absence seem entirely unjustified and pathetic – but it is what happened.

To those of you who sent worried messages, I sincerely apologize to you. I wasn't managing my inbox during this time, and I feel guilty, honored, and grateful, anyone thought to worry about my welfare. With it perhaps sounding even less excusable I disappeared this way, I am safe, sound, and healthy. Thank you for the very kind words and wishes.

To make it up to those very kind souls I will post one of my absolute favorite FMA One Shots, titled, Pay A Person With Kindness, following this story in November 2017. I sincerely love this piece and encourage anyone who has liked any of my FMA stories to read it. As we near November I will reveal the exact launch date on my profile.

Again – apologies to all for the absence – great to be back!


	15. Ducks In A Row

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Fourteen  
 _Ducks In A Row_

\- mirage -

The town of Dusnan was only seven hours from Central Command. By fourteen hundred Ed was stepping off the train with both hands in his pockets and his hood pulled to his nose.

Miles out East, past the last major city, and overlooking the desert, Ed stepped off the train, clomped a few halfhearted and unwilling steps forward, and in the mouth of bodies exiting the departure door, stood stationary and alone.

Staring into the alleyway leading from the station to the town's main street, Dusnan came staring back, and Ed felt as if he were extending his equivocal hand for a good old-fashioned business-shake with the town.

 _So, you're who they sent?_

 _I am who they sent._

 _You'll be quick?_

 _Quick and out of your hair in no time._

On the station's weathered and sand battered platform, Ed felt he was on the same playing field as the town. Both of them pawns. His soul meant nothing for his rank; he was owned property. Selected as the assassin the same way the town was selected as the stage. _The organized shuffle of belongings._

Him the well suited accessible weapon, and Dusnan, unsightly and ignored. Its desolate sand coated streets and buildings of prickly wind stripped siding the perfect bed for what they wanted to bury. With a population of just two hundred and eighty, Dusnan guaranteed a level of discretion. A population of close knit unquestioning people, committed to back breaking labor at low wages. _We won't hear anything, and we won't see anything,_ Dusnan said. _Do what you need to do, and then go back to where you came from._

Ed left the platform, crossed the train station, exited onto the dirt road, and walked to the first and only town intersection in complete seclusion.

He wanted to forget as much as he wanted to be forgotten. The mission's sole mercy the opportunity to come and go quickly if he could prove efficient at his task. No matter how disgraced he was by himself and his actions, he could at least admit he was no longer so naïve he believed the world was made up of only happy endings.

In fact quite probably the world was made up of only tolerable endings, and other awful pauses pushing onward to further tolerable times. The state of things continuing onward at an oddly manageable medium, with white rapids coming and going without capsizing you, but sometimes suggesting it might be a good idea to just dive in and drown.

 _Life in the raft isn't working out so well, let's try it in the water._ Sometimes the joy of being able to end at all had its perks.

Ed lifted a hand to shield his face when a hot uncomfortable gust came down the center street bringing bits of sand with it. The town smelled like the desert, and that was the smell of cooked air, thick heat, and blowing dirt. Dusnan was at least ninety degrees in the shade, and this was weather the Fullmetal Alchemist cataloged in opposition. At the age of twelve, returning from Yous Well, his first Eastern mission, he had submitted a complaint. _No more missions in the East!_ It read in childish penmanship. _The automail cooks me like an egg!_

That was an exaggeration, but it felt like a reality. With both hands in his pockets, his back slouched with sluggish depression, and a growing collection of sweat beading at the base of his chest and shoulder blades, Ed stood in the sun and stared across the street at Dusnan's one and only bar.

Mustang's words floated back through his mind. " _Ed, you cannot be drunk at work. I will take that very seriously."_

 _Would you now_ , Ed thought, giving a fast glance to either side before crossing the street. While not throat-cutting or head-stomping, didn't he have the time? Memory of Mustang's indirect challenge was enough to direct schedule to the bar. Wasn't the expression, dead is better on a full stomach?

Ed stepped into the bar frowning. _Wait…that was not an expression_. _That was nonsense._

Dusnan's single saloon was vacant. No music was playing; no peanuts or napkins were out. It was a closed blossom and would not bloom until that evening because everyone respectable was at work.

One bar tender sat at the far end of the long wooden counter polishing a stack of recently washed glasses, and the sound of the opening doorway, and Ed's sudden appearance stopped the man's rag.

Ed assumed the counter, and gave the man a wide customer grin that soured him. Ignored the man's disappointed sigh as he tossed the rag over his shoulder and approached, skeptical, and annoyed, before dropping two meaty hands onto the counter and cocking an eyebrow so the question didn't even need to be spoken aloud.

 _Boy, you wouldn't be stupid enough to be standing here asking for a drink, now would you?_

Ed made a show of digging his right hand into his pant pocket. Searching as if what little allowance he might have compiled was alluding his fingertips, before slapping down a wad of cash too thick to count. "All I want is one small bottle." Ed kept his cheeky grin. "Whatever you have that is sweet and fits in my pocket."

Fuck the military.

Ed set off to expense the afternoon.

If life was going to be miserable, and bend his arm until he had to drop to his knees, he would exercise whatever independence he had left, even if that was as childish as filling his stomach on someone else's coin. The single local grocer had the basic canned goods being shipped in, but a few homemade gems, and Ed bought some of everything.

Ate slouched over the single wooden table at the store front window. Sweating like a pig and watching the sand blow the occasional wood chip or petrified shred of vegetation down the center of the street.

With satisfaction he flirted with the idea of logging his crimes into the military's Expense Report. _Cinnamon rolls:_ eighteen cens _, Dusnan Sugar Rock candy:_ ten cens, _Ham Sandwich, tourist soda, and more candy:_ twenty five cens. Contemplated adding obnoxious comments to each purchase just to be a prick. C _innamon rolls were really sticky._ Then separated from all, so it would be unmistakably noticeable, he would write in all capitals, _DUSNAN WHISKEY._ One hundred and fifty cens _._

Sit on that, assholes.

Ed left the grocer with his hood up and the temperature jumped from an eighty six indoors to a ninety eight sunny outdoors. Kindly, the military had granted him everything the mission required, by providing him nothing. Had not been specific as to when or how the task was completed, only said it was to be done.

Ed pulled the slender bottle from his coat pocket and opened it for a swig. Swishing it contemplatively from cheek to cheek like mouth wash, he tried to imagine General Keshow's face as the man read his Expense Report. To really be a shit about things he was going to make sure the man did. He wasn't going to wait for Finance to read his report and stand up with patriotic outrage, or perhaps dumbfounded confusion, and seek out the General, who he would list as the direct report. He would send the man one in an envelope. Lick the back and everything.

What could they really do? He had followed all the adult instructions he had been given, and taken his final step into the adult would like a fucking champ. _A motherfucking champ._ Wasn't that worth some cinnamon rolls? It wasn't like he'd be too fat and sticky to pull a trigger. You couldn't deny funds to people out murdering for you, and you couldn't reprimand them either!

 _We don't like the way you murder for us, and we specifically feel eating and drinking while you're doing it is inappropriate. It's not a party. It's work._

Ed tipped the bottle up, so the light of the sun swam through the honey brown color and took a long swallow. Staring up at the sky through an ocean of tea coloring, he imagined he was inside the Earth looking up at the stars while his mouth told him he was chewing through a rotten Elm tree.

Dusnan whiskey tasted very different from the whisky in Central. The bartender said it had local honey in it, and Ed regretted not buying a bottle of pure honey so he could have mixed them together.

"The best thing about alcohol is the way you only needed a little to get somewhere else fast. Havoc had said this when Ed popped his first beer. "The worst thing about alcohol, is needing a little at all." It was cold, and smelled sour, but Havoc had been grinning a wide, wait-until-you-taste-this grin, and Ed was nervous, but more nervous not to. He wasn't a wimp. He could drink a beer.

And he did. Seated on Havoc's dorm couch, with the man taking shots to quell the pain of his latest breakup, before throwing it up, outside Havoc's dorm on the grass, with the man congratulating him.

"That's it, Ed!" Ed remembered standing bent over, clinging to his knees, and retching with a string of drool dangling from his lips to the lawn, with Havoc wailing on his back as if it were a drum, and cheering him up. "That's how we do it! Oh yeah, good job. Push it up! Want another brewskie?" Havoc called them brewskies.

On an empty stomach, after missing lunch, Ed had finished vomiting, and didn't know what to say about the way everything was spinning in different directions, so he said yes. Human transmutation didn't come in a can, so why the hell not.

On that memorable evening, when he was sixteen, Havoc was giving honest and sincere life advice with only the best intentions. Dropping coins into the piggybank of Ed's skull, and they both knew he was doing it.

"Listen Chief, everything you do in life requires you to drink." Watching Havoc pour more Jack Daniels onto his coffee table than into his cup, Ed's ears and mind were open. "Most of the time you drink water and that's enough, but when it's not you have to decide." Havoc was a soldier who could hit targets eight hundred and twenty-nine miles away, and Ed had believed to hit targets from such a distance, you had to have good line of sight. "Decide." Havoc lifted his full cup, heavily intoxicated, and smiled. "You have to decide."

It had taken Ed longer than he thought it should to realize he was going to have to ask. "Decide, what?" Prior to his brewskies he'd been relatively certain Havoc knew more about weapons than he did about life, but as he kept drinking, it became harder to decipher, and he was becoming impressed.

"Decide to drink after, to celebrate. Or drink first, so you have the courage to go forward and live to celebrate." The tone had been oddly endearing, and Ed had averted his gaze, becoming uncomfortable. Havoc was in the process of picking himself up off the floor, and in doing so, was trying to tell a little kid who had not yet had to, how to do it with some dignity.

After Dusnan, Mustang had told Ed he could have an entire bottle when he returned, but Havoc had taught Ed you could drink first, and so he did.

The desert heat was wafting upward wobbling the horizon, and between Ed's pectorals, the same fierce sweat turning his ass and boxers into a soggy disgusting mess, was soaking his shirt. Beneath the hood of his jacket, the trapped heat was backing his scalp, and Ed felt the outside of his body growing wet, while the inside felt as it were drying up.

If he didn't seek out his target, theoretically the man would continue traveling and could escape. That type of result didn't even compute in military terms. _I went out there to do the deed, but somehow the weasel got away, better luck next time, right?_

With nothing but desert visible to the town's right, Ed went to the left, where a large shadowed building towered over the base of the road. When the Amestrian military invested money in your training, they demanded return. Named the town, showed a photo of the man, and expected the gaps to be filled in.

Trudging up the road, Ed tried to decide if he would speak to the man he was to kill if the unfortunate opportunity presented himself. If he say, pulled the gun and the man stopped, hands raised, and staring, before choking that traditional, "Wait!" and there was time to open dialogue.

Something cliché like, "They want you dead!" or an accusatory, "Why did you do it!" when no one had expended any time discussing the crime, and Ed hadn't the slightest idea was the man's trespass was. He had spent a wealth of his adolescence carrying a dark taboo in his back pocket, so faulting people for fleeing in terror was just a bit too hypocritical to manage. There were plenty of sane reasons to run from the military, and there were plenty of ethical ones as well.

 _But you're not running Mr. Soon To Be Murderer. You're not running, are you?_

Ed stopped walking. The crunch of his footfalls silencing. Body damp with perspiration he closed his eyes and thought of Mustang's office. Envisioned the desk, the paint, the way the sun came in at mid-day, Roy's stupid favorite pen, the squeak of the man's stupid chair, the military flag on the wall, the smell of fresh paper and gun cleaner, and thrust his hand into his pocket and gripped the gun Mustang had left inside it. _Think, think!_ he told himself, _remember and understand why you're here!_

Because when you follow orders you get an office with a window, and a chair that squeaks, and a favorite pen, and you don't get thrown into military prison for doing bad things to your brother.

Ed imagined Military Prison as a black hole leading into the center of the Earth. You were shoved off the edge, fell into it, and didn't come back.

Ed took a step to the side of the road. Kicked a hole into the sand with the heel of his boot and dropped the gun inside it. Buried it, promising himself he wasn't going to cheese-dick himself out of this, and clapped.

Transmuted the gun into a sizeable metal chest piece. A heavy polished King piece. _Mustang's king piece._ Brilliant and onyx it was shining in the sun, and he left it.

 _,_ and left it sitting there, shinning in the sunlight.

He couldn't have the weight of Mustang in his pocket. Out here, he was supposed to be the king. _Only a king could take out another king. It was time for a little Castling._

Life was promising to get a bit easier in a year or so. Alphonse was technically growing stronger, and we were technically establishing a robust military career. Falling into black holes just couldn't be squeezed into the schedule. With Alphonse unable to wear most clothing and eat all foods, he couldn't really seek any type of life, never mind any type of employment, and the world wasn't going to take care of him simply because he'd had a hard run of it. _Hell, we'd all had a hard run of it._ It was a fucking hard run!

So when you destroyed someone's body, and forced them into a metal box with only a sliver to peer out of, for several years, you were the one who was responsible when their mind turned into a runny egg. You were the one responsible when they decided they could only tolerate the most expensive cotton on their skin. You were the one responsible when they struggled to swallow and digest food, and broke into bouts of crying because noises were too loud, and smells were too strong, and heat was overwhelming, and parts started bleeding without cause, and you were the one responsible for making that wrong right, when there was no possible way to make it right, and you had been too stupid to understand you hadn't recreated the hypothalamus correctly in the first place. You were responsible, responsible, responsible.

Maybe Alphonse should have just re-transmuted himself.

Maybe we should have redesigned things. I'll go in the armor, you get our bodies back, you're a bit better at this then I am, aren't you.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Ed stopped and gave his head a small dismissive shake. Continued onward. Speed driven and focused. Footsteps twice as loud. The heat of the desert was an open oven, blowing towards him, rising up from the sand, beating down from the sun, and every part of him was sweating.

 _Stop thinking,_ he told himself. _No more thinking._ His mind was his worst enemy. This wasn't news, this was a bad reoccurring game he played with himself, and not the fun kind either. This wasn't the, leave-me-alone-I-want-some-personal-time-so-I-can-go-tug-my-dick-and-I-am-sorry-you're-in-a-suit-of-armor,-but-you-have-no-idea-how-badly-I-have-to-do-this-right-now, kind of game. This was the legitimate bad type. It developed slow, coming late at night as a tidal wave of frightening panic from nowhere. It distorted his thinking pattern so badly it felt as if someone took possession of his mind. It was poison, self-made poison. A leaching toxic-thinking, and it came when he was alone and falling stationary.

When he had just enlisted, or was it, when he had been tricked into signing papers with too much font to read, and Mustang's desk had seemed an ark in size, and the office much larger than he now realized it was, he had to confess this was happening to Pinako because he couldn't get any sleep. He remembered it clearly, because it was the memory of feeling like an asshole. It wasn't calling home and saying, listen-I-think-there-are-monsters-under-my-bed-and-I-can't-sleep, it was calling home and saying for-some-reason-I-can't-seem-to-put-myself-to-bed-like-everyone-else-I-am-scaring-the-living-shit-out-of-myself-doing-nothing!

Pinako had taken this in strides, the same way she had done everything on his permanent record, and Ed appreciated it. She didn't laugh and she didn't scold, she told him what it was.

"Ed, you're having panic attacks," she had said flatly. "That's what one feels like." She didn't even ask the cause, she just suggested a change in nightly schedule. Told him to take a long hot bath, and read in bed. This instruction, in combination with their hectic days, worked wonders. He was falling asleep before eleven; passing out like the dead. _Pinako was a genius._

Ed remembered thinking so when a successful night of rest came after two weeks without one. He had found the cure to his illness, and carefully committed the symptoms to memory to thwart them.

They started with vicious evil thoughts spreading like cancer, but they were untrue. _And that was the catch;_ That they were untrue, and he needed to recognize that he was lying to himself, in an effort to hurt himself, even while so desperately trying to stop himself, and feel better.

In some way, for some reason, there was this horrible temptation to unreasonably self-bash, and trudging up the road Ed found it, and focused on the reasonable argument disrupting one hypothalamus was an unintentional error they could overcome. Alphonse was skillfully dedicated to his own diagnosis, and they had been working together. Without their mastering more pressing obstacles, such as the inability to eat, temperature would not have risen to the top of the list.

No matter what, it was key to remember, that even if we failed we tried, and Hawkeye was the one who told us that one. Without a beer, and without a boyfriend leaving her, she had said happily, "Even if I miss after I pull the trigger, Ed, I know I took the shot, and that means, I almost hit the target."

Smiling, Ed stopped at the end of the single main street. _Crazy gun nut,_ he thought cheerfully, _she just wants to shoot things_.

Main Street led to only one thing: a large square building looming over everything, like the town's pumping heart. After visiting Yous Well, Ed easily recognized the building to be a mine.

Main street was the settlement's single artery and everyone was feeding on it. Like leaches in a pond with only one host, the ore mine was the town's blood. One way or another it held employment over all, and without its outside interest and outside finance, their incomes would dry up faster than water on the street.

But what were they mining?

Curious, Ed skirted the outside of the building with sloppy lumbering steps. Drinking made walking harder, and the heat was a fire on his back. The slight breeze was now sparse, and thick threads of sweat dropped over his forehead and scattered. He was panting, although he hadn't noticed it, and parts of him usually spared perspiration were unusually sensitive. The back of his knee was a river of it, and the bottom of his navel was now a belt of lubricated skin about the waist of his pants.

Stumbling down the back wall of the mine, Ed approached a low window adjusting the crotch of his pants. His balls were trying to dislodge to escape his sweating pelvis, and he was certain they'd be knocking around between his knees if the leather didn't keep them scooped up. "God damn desert," Ed muttered, eyesight swaying as he grasped the window ledge visualizing his twelve year old penmanship: _cooks me like an egg!_

The inside of the mine was teeming with life. It was wall to wall with operation and the town's people scurrying about between. Like a forest of shoots and pipes, the room was pumping steam, and hauling gravel. The was sediment being poured into large waiting train cars, sediment being sorted along long conveyer belts, sediment being dumped into rows of vats, and everything was smoggy with a dust that looked thin enough to breathe. Was it copper? Or Iron? Did it matter?

Ed stepped back and looked up to the top of the building. The safest place to hide seemed to be one with a bird's eye view, where he could see his target coming and going. Sneaking up there in a red coat would be a bit tricky, but it came in handy when your life's trade was violating natural law, and changing the color of your clothing was no harder than manipulating a few chemicals.

He decided he would hide in the roof.

* * *

Roy was disturbed from sleep by a polite and steady tapping on the door he sat leaning against. Waking and cracking an eye he verified the dark desolate closet was undisturbed, as he was blocking the entrance, before returning to sleep.

The tapping evolved to knocking, and if Roy's loyalty to Hughes was not steadfast. Roy accepted he would have transferred this woman far from him, immediately, if not already, if it wasn't for Hughes respect for her.

"Sheska, go away," Roy said angrily, voice mumbled and half asleep.

"Sir?" she whispered, continuing to knock softly. "I am sorry to bother you."

Roy highly doubted this. "I have clearance to be in here. I want you to leave me alone." This was a lie, but when a Colonel told you they had clearance, and you went to confirm they didn't, and there was confrontation, no one liked it. It was a political no-no.

"But, sir," Sheska sounded worried. Sounded nervous Roy Mustang was sleeping in her Record's closet and she was indirectly condoning this with deliberate lack of action. "But sir, the First Lieutenant is looking for you."

"No she isn't," Roy said angrily. He tried to return to sleep. He'd had none last night. After the nerve wracking criminal infiltration of the General's office, and Ed's early train, he had spent the few hours in between sitting at his kitchen table first staring at, and then cleaning, his 9MM combat pistol. When it fired, he wanted it to work perfectly. The bullet that left the chamber needed to hit its target and send Fullmetal home.

Sheska went silent, and Roy was drifting off when the sound of a key sliding into the doorknob jerked him awake.

"Sheska!" Roy said. "I…" and what could we say. He wanted to say I will fire you, but Hughes-loyalty sprang up within him and he bit his tongue. What came out instead was a half asleep mutter of betrayal. "…I got you a birthday present."

"But she really is looking for you!" Sheska cried. "And you didn't get me a present—but I think it may be important. Lieutenant Hawkeye is—"

"—Lieutenant Hawkeye," Roy said, raising his voice and comfortably lulling his head to his other shoulder, "knows where I am." He hadn't told her, but he assumed this was true.

"No, she's looking for you. I heard her on the phone, and she kept asking, where is he, and sounding worried."

"No, you didn't," Roy muffled into his shoulder.

"I am sure I did! She said, where is he, several times, and then demanded to know what time he left the apartment."

Roy was slipping back into the cradle of sleep when the word apartment began echoing in his mind.

 _Apartment. Apartment._ Hawkeye didn't call his place an apartment. She called it a house because it was, even while under lease. _Apartment._ How well did you have to know someone to distinguish which noun they would choose for your dwelling? _Apartment._ If she was not worried about him, there weren't many people for her to worry about. _Apartment._ Ed had caught the train. He had verified with his own eyes and…

Roy opened his eyes, with his brain flipping concepts like a projector. Edward. Train. Absence. ALPHONSE. His mind stopped, and suddenly Major Armstrong's words came ringing back. _I saw young Alphonse Elric yesterday…I might have accidentally given him reason to suspect with all that has been going on._

To suspect Ed was leaving on a mission? To suspect Ed was accepting dangerous work? To suspect he might need to suddenly disappear from their safe guard? To suspect this was a good time to act on his own because some people, namely them on Ed's behalf, might interfere!

 _Dammit!_ Roy scrambled up, slipping on the well-polished tile, and staggering with his right leg asleep. "Sheska!" He fumbled with the locked doorknob before tearing it open and scaring her. She jumped back, squeaking with surprise, as if he were a charging bull. "Where did you see her?"

"What?"

"When did you see her!" He changed his question.

"Well, this morning, not too long ago. She was using a hall phone."

"A hall phone?" Hawkeye had a desk phone, and after that she had his desk phone. Why would she make an outbound private call from a hall phone? Logically he had to assume she was taking an inbound call, and was stuck in the hall. "Which hall?"

"The same hall as your office."

Roy left stomping with his rubbery right leg pins and needles. He went directly to his office, found it empty, and fuming, verified Hawkeye's car was still on site. He found the cafeteria and break room empty, and felt painted into a corner he could not scold subordinates for shirking while he had been sleeping in a closet, when he caught sight of Hawkeye going back into his office.

Somehow during his investigatory travels everyone had returned to the office and Hawkeye was speaking. She was walking very quickly, and went directly to her desk while saying, "I am going to have to leave right now. I'll just drive over there."

Roy caught the office door before it closed behind her.

"Let me drive over there," Havoc said, standing with both hands in his pockets frowning. Upon entering the doorway, Roy instantly understood everyone in the office was collectively discussing the same topic. Something had occurred and been unfolding. Everyone was standing, and looking at Hawkeye. "I know a guy on the force, and he won't stop me if I am driving fast."

"Yes, but if he is home, he may not let you in if something is wrong," Hawkeye said, pulling her purse from beneath her desk and fishing out her keys. "I am going to go."

"I should just start heading East," Falman said, giving a quick shrug. "It's almost eight hours. I could get a head start in case we need someone out there."

"Not without a cover story you can't," Breda criticized. "We can't do it without a cover."

"Have any family out there?" Fuery asked, tone hopeful. "We could say you were taking a personal day,"

Hawkeye pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. "Someone find the Colonel. Until we have an order we all have to stay in Central." She stepped back from her desk with her car keys in hand before stalling on sight of Mustang in the open doorway.

All eyes turned to Roy, and he glanced between them before stepping in and shutting the door.

"What happened?" he asked irritably. "Can't I take one nap? One nap? I was up all night."

Havoc pointed at Hawkeye and announced a flat, "She lost Alphonse."

 _She. She lost Alphonse. As if Alphonse belonged to Hawkeye now._

Roy didn't bother answering this. When Elric entered the conversation, it was a weight to the opposite justice scale that sent the wealth of them flying in all directions.

"Where did he go," Roy said, turning a serious gaze to Hawkeye. _Don't tell me._ Hawkeye's expression tightened with concern but she didn't answer. "You think he followed?" _Of course he did, dammit._ "Well, what time do you think he left?" Hawkeye's tense look tightened and the rivet nestled quaintly between her slender eyebrows deepened a fraction of an inch. _She wasn't sure, but she had a good idea._ "Dammit, how did he figure this out!" Roy snapped. "This is classified! Alphonse is to remain home. Edward is on a classified mission." He tossed his eyes to those in the room, but no one looked surprised. "So everyone knows," Roy said, tone falling to sarcasm. "Great."

"Hey Colonel, you can't blame the Chief for being worried," Havoc said, offering a good natured shrug. "I gave Ed my lucky knife." Breda laughed with impressed incredulity, but Fuery comfortably shared that he had given Ed small plastic explosives, and Breda sheepishly admitted handing over brass knuckles. "Plus the Major said he was going to teach Ed the family's secret take down moves," Havoc said. "They've been passed down for generations."

Roy's jaw was slipping open, and it almost hit the floor before he managed a quick, but hushed, "So you all gave him weapons?" Accusation and disbelief was heavy in his voice.

The team stared back at him, quiet and comfortably admitting.

"Well," Havoc said, breaking the silence with a second quick shrug. "We didn't know what type of orders he had regarding alchemy, and…" he trailed off hesitantly before busting a grin and continuing with, "I mean, Ed kicks ass when it comes to alchemy, but sir he's still…"

Breda finished Havoc's sentence scratching his neck and looking indifferent. "Short."

"Hand-to-hand is not the same thing," Fuery rushed quickly. "A variety of weapons might come in handy. This mission is serious."

Roy closed his eyes and gave the bridge of his nose a quick pinch before exhaling the air from his lungs. _Okay, so everyone was trying to help. That's okay. Good camaraderie. There was no I in team._

"Falman," Roy said. He dropped the hand from his face and looked to Falman. The man stood at Breda's side, engaged, but unassuming, and Roy gave a small fanning out-with-it gesture. Falman had not revealed what weapon he had given Ed, and Roy was hoping it wasn't grenades. Ed did not seem the best person to give grenades to.

"What sir?" Falman looked clueless.

"What did you contribute?"

Falman was staring like a deer in headlights.

Hawkeye left her desk and passed Roy before stopping in the doorway. She was determined to go somewhere, and Roy stepped back and took hold of the doorknob to exit with her.

"Oh, come on," Falman complained. He darted a swift embarrassed glance to the team, reluctant to speak, and tried to pass with a dry, "I think it's clear we all fund being prepared."

"Was it grenades?" Roy asked, tone criticizing. "It was grenades, wasn't it."

Falman scoffed. "No, it wasn't grenades." Trying to ignore the team's patient gaze, he shifted, gaze averted, before confessing a quick and annoyed, "Okay, fine!" Gave them a hot look and defended himself with a sharp, "I told him it was okay to cry afterward if he needed to!" Havoc and Breda broke out laughing manically and Falman began the slow expectant nod of one expecting to be teased. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and laugh," he said irritably. "But it's his first kill, you know."

Fuery was straight-faced, looking undecided, but Breda was doubling over. His laughter was belly rumbling. Looking disgusted Falman watched Havoc plop into his desk chair holding his eyes belting howls, before adding a defensive, "It's a good thing for a person to hear. You never know how people react. It's natural."

Roy stared at Falman critically. Yes it was a good thing for a person to hear, and no, no one actually made fun of you if you cried after your first kill, but…Roy glared at his team, hearing Fuery's words repeat in his mind. _This mission is serious._

 _Yes, it's serious, we're taking things very serious,_ Roy thought irritably.

The team looked reasonably compassionate and mindful of Ed as their youngest war-virgin. Sympathetic that this milestone would be challenging, but also blissfully confident that Ed would destroy his target. Ed's skill discredited any suggestion the mission could go awry. The idea Ed might try to re-write, wiggle out of, or abandon his orders, was not the team's first assumption the way it was Roy's. Fullmetal's professional side was the side the team was acquainted with, and Fullmetal's professional side arrogantly required he hit any target he aimed at. _Getting him to aim was the problem,_ Roy thought. _It's not hitting the target, it's lifting the gun._

Roy looked to Hawkeye when she captured the doorknob he was holding by overlapping his hand with hers, and said exactly what he was thinking. "Dammit Falman." Hawkeye turned to leave, voice not unkind, and Roy followed her.

They left and Roy matched her quick pace as they professionally ran to the stairs. "It takes all kinds," Roy said, as they pushed into the stair well and started down them with her thinner boot heels clicking rapidly and his heavier size sounding like clown shoes. Falman's advice was not what he would have given, but there was a part of him glad that it was. Ed left Central equipped with a sundae of weapons and Falman's comment seemed like the prominent cherry. Still, as a male soldier it was the most pansy-ass thing you could say, and two flights down Roy found a smile fighting to break out and he chuckled once before adding, "It takes every color to make a rainbow, Lieutenant."

"Sir," Hawkeye said, voice flat. "I am not in the mood."

Roy kept his smile, but agreed with a quick, "I'll drive."

* * *

With Roy stomping down the hall of Central Command, Ed realized climbing up a multistory building for eagle eye reconnaissance, was more nerve wracking than awesome. He had known reconnaissance guys a floor below Mustang's office. Tough-faced, well-muscled individuals who stopped talking if you approached, and wore black with the reflexes of cats. They had said elevation made a real difference, and standing on the wood crafted ladder transmuted from the siding of the building, Ed believed them. Sober it probably made a big difference, but tipsy it meant the difference between hand and eye coordination. On the ground things swayed softly from side to side, but elevated, equilibrium was lost, and things swirled.

Standing only six ladder rungs up, Ed tipped his head down and looked at the sand. Somehow the depth of hundreds of feed only included six ladder rungs. Ed dug the whisky bottle from his pocket, with sudden need. He unscrewed it with his arm looped into the ladder's frame and took a quick gulp. The visual of life out here in the desert, and this manipulative ladder, was assaulting. Ed took a second deep swallow, belched, stuffed the bottle back into his sweaty pocket, and kept climbing.

The increased altitude made him shaky, and function was hard near the top. His arms became panicky, and his white knuckled grip felt weak and unstable. He slipped twice when he shouldn't have, and squirmed onto the roof to lay stomach down feeling blindsided by how different this was from how he imagined it. Things did not feel cool they felt sabotaging.

As soon as he arrived at the top he wanted down. Off the roof, out of the wind, and back to stable land. The roof was baking to the smell of crushed smoldering wood and sand. It was hot to the touch, and uncharacteristically smooth from wind abrasion. The polished surface was threatening, giving the automail nothing but the sensation of frictionless glass. Sand particles were blowing on and blowing off in a never ending cycle, and the thick stuffy breeze did nothing to stop the edge from wobbling in a view of heavy heat.

Ed prepared to transmute. Sulked up to his knees swaying, and awkwardly lifted his uncoordinated hands to clap. Like most factories this mine began and ended with the scream of a great whistle, and with it blowing Ed sparked his transmutation and jutted the ceiling downward in the shape of an open square coffin. Then he flopped into it the way he did his mattress, and closed the back, as if shutting a cabinet, with the generation of two thin doors. When the box was dark he sparked a thin slit before his eyes, and all the while the miners continued gathering their hats and tools and packing it up for the day. Ed had constructed the front he made to open like a hatch, so when he was ready, he could drop out, silent, and ahead.

 _Quick and quiet. Out of your hair in no time._

You didn't take targets down while surrounded by hundreds of co-workers, you did it later, in mysterious shadows, so there was time to prepare. _Ed was ready to prepare_. He was going to stake the place out, find his man, and attack. He positioned himself and waited.

His coat was like a blanket, locking in his body heat, and his sweat was soaking through the back of his shirt and filling his boot. It was disgusting, but the whisky made it only remotely bothersome. It kept Ed's sublimely detached, and his gaze distracted with nothing. Mentally asleep he stared downward with capability to notice the unusual but whiskey driven from any observation. The clock ticked forward unnoticed. First ten minutes, suddenly forty, and then nearly two hours without the slightest notice or care. It was not until the drink began fading from the systems it had lolled into a happy tolerating existence that Ed's eyes returned to detail. It felt a bit like rousing from a nice sleep, unwelcomed, but inevitable, and Ed stared at the industry below him, seeing it for the first time.

The factory's interior was outlined with linking workstations of different and obscure purposes. The objective of each unclear, but the design careful, with the same pattern Ed had seen of machinery on a military parade ground. Separation was narrow aisles appropriate for workers, or wide paths with heavy machinery treads in the floor's sand and gravel.

The dilapidated town might have been carelessly nailed together and home to low information slaves with bleeding palms and no sense to relocate, but the mine was managed. It wasn't state of the art, but housed solid reliable equipment built to last and withstand the cost of unnecessary maintenance. It held investment. Well placed investment. Knowing very little about mining science, the purpose for much of the equipment and placement was lost on Ed, but recognizing it was not. The right half of the room appeared to be processing what the left half of the room was bringing up. Below Ed's box there were chutes and conveyers with apparent discharge and load points dusted and filthy with sediment. There were crushers, screens, and dust-collection fans. There was a large crane, rock grapple, large thick piping around crates, and several train cars of sediment. Still slightly tipsy, Ed narrowed his gaze to analyze what was contained but his drunk mind said: ROCKS, and CRAP, and I HATE THE DESERT.

It did not want to participate in thinking. It was pissed off tolerating his oven of a body roasting it like a chestnut and moving white and gray matter to a burnt tasteless char.

However, perfect sobriety was not necessary to understand sediment on the left of the room was coming in large hunks, being ground and broken down into small manageable pieces, organized, and somehow moving into the right side of the factory. This area was dotted with what looked like rows of large gray chicken eggs taller and wider than Ed's body. Upright machinery connected to smaller pieces of machinery, and everything was properly spaced, as if dangerous. There were thin pipes, and large pipes, and pressure readers and pressure gauges. It was an engineering rat's nest dotted with workstation hubs, and coated in the dust the left side could not contain.

The entire place held the smell of it, the friction of mineral density being pushed to its limit and the exploitation of deposits. It was a fine powder, and it hung in the air, laid over the pipes and vats, and sat twinkling on the grey mineral shards with a bright light-catching sheen in the train car below Ed. In jagged crusts, like rock landscaping, and slowly an equation whispered up through Ed's whisky drying mind. _Cu^2S._ It was Chalcocite.

Ed looked to the far train car, it held material of a different color. A dark burnt orange, dark enough to be wood chips. FuFeS^2. Chalcopyrite. Chalcopyrite was ninety-eight to ninety-nine percent copper when pure, and Chalcocite was almost eighty percent copper when pure. It was a copper mine.

Ed felt a ghost of a smile cock the corner of his mouth upward, and from the tip of his nose a bead of sweat dropped down into the Chalcocite and disappeared. His forehead was resting comfortably above the slit before his eyes, and leaking sweat like a faucet. His damp body felt greasy, but the lingering alcohol kept things relaxed, and his mind was waking up as if it were crawling out of bed. _Oh, this again? Another day?_

Organized surveillance was like pulling up to the racing line and waiting for the green light. Ed was exactly where he should be, and everyone knew when the light turned green he would hit the gas pedal.

 _That's right_ , Ed's sobering mind said, _everyone knows_.

They all knew, the same way they'd always known what he was doing. When he was younger, and now understood he was predictable the way most children were predictable, it was reasonable, not preferable, but reasonable. Now, some six years from the first day he was instated it was obnoxious. Did all that time mean nothing? Suddenly, his classified mission was public knowledge?

That was confusing, because it was unlike the colonel to leak classified information. That said, it was also odd for the first lieutenant to leak classified information, but when you got right down to it, it was obvious Roy would have told her. Or she would have wheedled it out, figured it out, or perhaps forced it out. Hawkeye looked persuasive in a way you would think she wasn't. It was the way her silence appeared to be obedience, but instead it was loyalty. It was the way her loyalty, appeared to be submission, but in fact it was admiration. It was everything about her that identified her as a subordinate defining her as an accomplice, and Ed had to admit, humbly, that conclusion as several years in the making. Hawkeye had evolved from some lady in the office, to Roy's secretary, to a novice detective, to a good shot, to a solid right hand, and now it was hard isolate her. _Just how much of this show was she running?_ Under the deceptive cloak of her gender she had been invisible to him for years, and how invisible was she to everyone else? Ed knew front-line soldiers respected her, that skilled and deadly men had referenced her with esteem, but managers were ignorant to the ecosystem of the worker bees, and that meant to most bureaucrats she would fit her domesticated whipping post of an image as Mustang's tea-fetching, phone-answering decoration.

Younger, Ed birthed this idea in a flood of shame for her, and something of loathing disgust for Mustang. Then, the second light bulb lit, and he realized this office-housewife façade was on purpose, and it wasn't a sentence Hawkeye was living, or Mustang was enjoying, it was a game they were playing together: CONSENSUALLY. Intelligently! because no one feared a secretary, and no one prized one either. It was hiding a diamond in plain sight. _And when the only person's opinions who mattered to you, were that of the person you were supposedly tea-fetching and phone-answering for, this suited you just fine._

Ed now understood it was, and perhaps had always been, her intention to assist quietly from behind, one step adjacent to the spotlight, because her finger-bleeding effort was a gift to Mustang, and like an idiot, it took nearly seven years to figure that out.

Hell, to be crude about things, that sun hadn't risen until the desire to bed women had him beating-off two to three times a day. Rubbing ourselves raw came simultaneously with the sudden obvious realization that Hawkeye's near constant glances to Roy weren't just harmless looks. _There was really something there_ , and without being certain when it had happened, Ed was at least certain it had happened, and it was like fully lightening a stage. All the backdrop came into view, and there was another rooster in the henhouse, and his name was Roy Mustang. _You'd lose this cockfight, champ._ The Hawkeye Hen would be plucking out his dead eyes before he even managed a decent kick.

So Mustang had shared classified, dangerous information with her, and what had she done in turn? Ed was betting, feeling as irritated as he was baffled, that the first person she told was Havoc. _Did their long range shooter, group goof, really stand up to that test?_ It was mind-boggling, but it had to be true, because Havoc had paid him a sudden unexpected visit, and brought a weapon.

It wasn't as debonair as Mustang on the departure platform, but before we broke into General Keshow's office, it came in fast, _hey let me show you this really great knife, and now let me suggest you borrow it because you might need it, and I am not taking no for an answer, short-stack._ No, that wasn't downright suspiciously coincidental. Even if you could play if off with the argument it was common enough for soldiers to show you their new toys, then what about Armstrong? _Let me tell you about my family's age old tradition in Silent-Take-Downs_ , and Fuery's, _plant this carefully_ , and Breda's, _it's jaw-breaking good_ , and Falman's, _it doesn't make you less a man_. So in the course of an hour, we had more new weapons and maneuver's shoved down our throats than we could manage to remember, and classified information was weeding through our posse like a game of telephone. Just what did every one think he was doing? Were we murdering a person, or was it an entire fucking town now! Was this a bloody massacre? A one man, alchemist of the people, motherfucking kill all!

And who started it all? The colonel? Lips sewn shut, loyal to the military, badge on our breast the colonel, who was human when you came right down to it.

One Man Holocaust: Edward Elric, the murder machine.

Staring down from the ceiling like a rusted light fixture Ed through about the whiskey in his pocket and wondered exactly how much would be too much. Killing someone seemed a bit easier when you wouldn't be able to remember it clearly, but it might be difficult to pursue someone stumbling over your own feet and slurring your words. _Heeeyyooou! S'it back ha'r!_

Vaguely Ed remembered young childhood mysteries he and Alphonse used to read. Now, with an adult mind he could identify every one of them had an appealing female character to assist, and the target was always naturally a bad person for humanity. So stopping him was heroic, a righteous duty. You were a knight, and they were a criminal. You were good and they were bad. You were right and they were wrong. In those books, no one was murdered, their plans were foiled, but playing now on the chessboard of adults, foiling someone's plan usually meant stopping their life: the biggest plan of all. You didn't skirt your opponents to the side of the board, you gave them checkmates. You said I put my piece here, and I take yours away. I stand where you were standing, because I was powerful enough to take you. I WON, and you LOST.

Ed tipped his head down and looked towards his ankles when he felt something tickle his calf. The coffin sized hiding spot didn't allowed room for anything, and squinting into the darkened box, Ed could just make out a dark blob the size of his pocket watch between his legs. It was moving quickly, in no one direction, like a fly uncertain where to land, and it wasn't until it was up by his knees he realized what it was.

A large fat spider.

"Ugh," Ed whispered, jerking his legs to either side of the box. Instinctively he squirmed even though there was nowhere to go. Having that long-legged, running, biting, BUG up by his junk while looking so pissed was not what he wanted. "Stupid spider," he whispered, lifting his leg as much as possible. This box was not made for movement, it was made for observation, and his boot was stuck down where it belonged. Zigzagging wildly, the spider was making good time indecisively scurrying between both legs before going over the right one.

That was not the automail leg, and the spider felt like a tiny feet marathon. Quick, quick, it was on his body, and Ed shivered involuntarily, before it was gone, fleeing over the back of his thigh and onto the wood.

Free, Ed smooshed himself against the far side of the box and watched the spider come running up the side. As soon as it was high enough he cocked his metal elbow out like a hammer, and the thing was large enough to crunch.

Gross. Ed closed his eyes in the darkness and sighed heavily.

 _There,_ he thought softly. _You lose._

And suddenly, everything made sense.

That was really what today was about, wasn't it? Proving you could stand in the newly colored square you had obtained? It was him or the spider, and he could either live with it, and let it into his hair, and down his shirt, and over his legs, and wherever it wanted to crawl and bite, or he would reclaim his spot. Either the spider was going to rule or he was.

His target had to fall so he could stand. Last night, this morning, the train ride over, and even while unscrewing the top of the whisky he had been plagued with naïve dilutions he could do something other than what happened at moment zero. That he could maybe persuade the man to give up, turn the man in, and move closer to the arrest of children's books rather than the adult-stomping kill he suddenly realized was inevitable.

Like the last piece of a puzzle he didn't know he was trying to assemble, understanding came suddenly, and to the sound of Mustang' s words. _If you aren't able to see your options, than you aren't ready for the answers._

If you aren't ready to see the opinions: _One box, one you, one spider_. Then you aren't ready to see the answers: _It is either your box, or the spider's box_. It is YOU or the SPIDER.

Roy was right, if you couldn't do your orders than you were the chess piece being taken away, and if you could do your orders, you were the chess piece still standing. There were only two options, and the colonel had understood this as soon as he heard the objective that night in the kitchen.

When Hawkeye had wheedled it out, or earned it, or whatever came at the end of the whacko ballet she had with Mustang, she understood, just like Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman had understood. Everyone had understood before him. Everyone knew how to play, and it wasn't that they were coerced the way you'd think coercion was needed for these types of decisions; it was simply that they recognized the reality of things. They knew they would either be the chess piece standing, or the chess piece leaving, and each time it was their turn they decided: LIKE ADULTS.

He was the only one trying to find a different way to play the game with chess pieces, chess rules, and a chess board. He was the only one struggling with the equation, because it was his turn and he didn't like it.

 _What am I twelve!_ Ed's mind screamed. _Are you serious! All these years, and I am still on square one!_

"Mother fucker," Ed hissed, squirming and twisting, and squeezing his arm down to his side so he could dig into his pocket. He didn't want it! He was ready! _If you aren't able to see your options_ …

He could see them, and he wedged the whisky bottle from his pocket and pulled it up the box so he could look at it. It was the same bottle from hours ago, but now it was different. The golden color inside looked sickening. It wasn't liquid courage, it was liquid lies! It was bullshit! Fucking bullshit! _He was hiding in a bottle!_

Ed elbowed backward, frantically forcing the back of the box open. He clawed out, as if uprooting himself up from his own grave. Panting, with his skin wet and his bangs pasted to him with sweat, he crawled onto the hot roof with the evening wind whipping, and stared down at the bottle in wide eyed shock.

What? Did he think he could fit in there? Take everything and cram it in? Squeeze into that tiny space and think it would be more comfortable than where he was now! "You lying piece of shit," Ed told the bottle, feeling swindled and betrayed. He was the butt of a magic joke, and even the magician was laughing. "You almost had me." He staggered up, and with the wind his coat inconveniently tossed itself over the backs of his arms. His bangs detached and flew forward from his face in thin threads, and he looked out at the miles of chiseled desert.

He didn't want it. He didn't want it with him. Not now as he moved forward and pushed his opponent's chess piece to the side, and not after. This wasn't a celebratory bottle, why didn't he see that earlier. This was a coward's bottle, a loser's bottle, the bottle of the weak.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist is not weak," Ed said firmly, glaring down at the slender glass frame in his palm. He cocked his arm back as far and hard as he could. "I am going home."

He pitched, and it went sailing beautifully through the dimming sky. The death was silent, spinning softly, before landing with the shatter of glass far off in the distance, and Ed felt free. The sound of it splintering apart released the last bit of himself inside it, and he thought of Roy's office, and the white paint, and the single plant, and favorite pen, and squeaking chair, and it sounded nice. It looked really nice.

It looked like the chess square ahead of him, and he was ready to step onto it, and he was ready to shoulder what was in his way aside.

* * *

Ha, ha! Who met their deadline! (It's sad when things such as this are actually a victory).  
As an FYI I'm moving my posting schedule to Saturday for this story, I simply can't make good time on Friday and I need to come to terms with it.

Hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 14: _Board of Squares,_ will be posted Saturday August 26, 2017. Hope to see you there.


	16. Board of Squares

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* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Fifteen  
 _Board of Squares_

\- mirage –

Night fell over the mining factory and it became a metal jungle.

To the unfamiliar and unskilled, it was dangerous. A meticulous construction of engineering and architecture, with thick stalks of reaching pipes, great vats of metal drums, and steam coming constantly. Rising upward from ever crevice, with the air warm, smelling of earth, and the alchemist in Ed feeling right at home.

Staring down from the ceiling, mind sober, the mind was an obstacle course of resources; elements, everywhere.

 _Cu, Fe, H._ They hovered over items like penmanship on a map. _Fu, Co, C._ Red invisible arrows pointing down, and pointing up, and to the side, leading him to the supplies. There were transition metals and non-transition metals, vapors and solids. The military had nestled him into a comic joke. Set him in an arena of weapons like a gladiator. The impending fight rudely obvious. Outcome inevitable. The only interest of note, the struggle of death, slight variation of weapon employed, and his ability to stand, after the deed was done, hands bloody, and take a bow.

 _You murderer._

From the far corner of the mine, Ed watched a single door open. It created a lit rectangle, gutting a dark and shadow-clumped room. Inside stood the silhouette of a single man, and he stepped in quickly, and disappeared.

He needed no introduction. No real name or identification. He was the enemy king. He was across the chessboard, entering the black and white tiles, and the factory suddenly felt cramped. Ed felt his own proud crown heavy on his head. He was in his starting position, concealed and waiting, and the man was in his, unassuming and free.

They were going to trade places, in more than one way, because there could only be one king.

Through the thin slit of wood framing Ed's two golden eyes dropped a thin wiggling spider, lowering itself down from the ceiling. While its erratic predecessor was unwelcomed, Ed looked at his new company and watched its thin twitching legs gain a sense of his box. Without a sound he slid his metal hand up like a trap, waited for it to crawl on, and captured it safely in his fist.

Down below the enemy king was moving quickly through the factory, looking for something. He was stepping onto the edge of open vats and looking inside. He sought out the only set of stairs, entered the limited and narrow upper foreman loft, and began searching through dusty stacks of paper.

Opening the front of his box, Ed readied his legs, and dropped onto the large train car of harvested gravel. It was noisy, beneath the souls of his feet the stones were uncomfortably irregular, but escape from the box felt good. Looking down at his boots with sweat dripping off his nose and chin, Ed took a tentative step forward, careful to see how loud he would be while noticing what he stood on looked mold covered.

Quickly Ed lifted a boot and checked the bottom. There was a green hue making the rocks look algae ridden. _CuCo^3-CCu(OH)^2:Malchite._ It was definitely a copper mine.

Ed set his boot down with a sniff of accomplishment. Still, even now, he could infer so much on an unschooled subject, and he hunched down. Rested his elbows on his knees, lifted the side of his pants to access his automail leg, and pulled up a maintenance hatch up before positioning the metal hand. Then, although he couldn't' feel it, he sensed the spider had crawled forward into its new prison in his leg, and sealed it inside.

Before him the enemy king was funneling himself through the metal equipment like a rat through a maze. He could attack immediately, and kill the man without question, or he could provoke him.

Somehow a sudden brunt assault seemed like a coward's knife in the back. It felt right to at least offer the man the honor of a fight, or, was that something he should avoid when the order was to kill? Irritably, Ed blamed Mustang for providing zero guidance. _Wasn't like Mustang hadn't murdered people. He could have spared a few tips!_ There had to be some type of unspoken etiquette, and just because we were taking lives, didn't mean we had to be a dick.

"Hey!" Ed called out, rising to his feet.

The enemy king stopped his quick jog through the rows of piping as abruptly as one suddenly caught in a spotlight. He turned around quickly, with searching eyes jerking left and right in the dark before landing on the thin sliver of Ed's male form standing on the darkest train car.

Suddenly feeling the fool, Ed clenched his teeth and cursed a slow colorful word under his breath. _What a freaking idiot he was! He gave away his position!_ Set the game in motion like a cannon ball! _Here, I am sending my Rook, Bishop, and Knight all willy-nilly onto the board! Pawns, who needs 'em!_

"You have a hit out on you," Ed said, voice confident and intimidating. _Nothing we actually felt._ The man was a faceless shadow, but with these words he moved slightly. "Why?" Ed asked, struggling to close the door firmly on Mustang's stampeding advice. It rushed in like hot print, _Extra! Extra! Ignorant Alchemist Ignores Tell-All!_

Roy had said not to get involved, because getting involved made it harder. Roy had said, whatever you learned did not mean things would be easier, but possibly worse. _Worse than they already were, which was almost too hard to bear._

But we were stupid, and we were naive, or we were hopeful, and we had faith.

The man took a step back. He was suggesting his answer was going to be running for his life.

Ed began a quick walk down the train car. His pace was aggressive, suggesting he was capable of greater undisplayed speed and power, but his mannerisms kept the situation passively unfolding. "Why would they do that?" he asked, demanding an answer while maintaining a general lack of intimidation. "What's so important about you?"

 _What's so important you sent the Fullmetal Alchemist?_

Ed winced at his own thought. _Fuck, he was becoming conceited._

"Who are you?" the enemy king spoke, and his voice told much about him. It was older, calculating. We weren't twenty and scared, we weren't thirty and stupid, we were forty, maybe mid fifty, and had seen life. He recognized the act of sizing up another opponent, and there was caution, but there was wisdom. _It's me or the spider._

"I am the man they've sent to kill you." Ed stood at the edge of his train car. "And I want to know why."

"Kill me?" the man repeated, astonishment falling to fast an intense trepidation. His tone begged the question he felt he was too insignificant for a kill-order. "You think you could kill me?" Panicked boasting. "Someone like me?" Anger now.

Ed remained confidently silent, imitating Mustang's face and Mustang's routine. The Colonel was the coolest when he was just sitting there, letting the world talk on and on and make an ass of itself.

"I'd like to see you come close," the man said, nervous smile entering his voice. Then he did it. "Pipsqueak."

In one quick motion the man reached back and scribbled a sparking transmutation. It blew out the front of the sediment deposit chamber alongside him and blue azurite particles shot forward in small chunk sized bullets, like a rock filled tornado. _Azurite Mohs hardness of three and a half to four, gravity nearly four, just about fifty-five percent copper when pure._

The gust knocked Ed off his feet, and gracelessly to his rear, pelting him with stones. He brought the automail to his face for protection, and the sound was gravel clanking off a shield. The Malchite offered no resisting traction, and he was blown off the train car, and hit the ground with merciless force. The only saving grace was the metal arm landing first.

Ed cried out a quick and sharp, "Fuck!" before realizing his enemy king wasn't done. The man was sparking the pipes as fast he could run, and they were warming to a hot incandescent red, pregnant with bursting fury. "Oh, what the fuck!" Ed complained, scrambling up, with his head throbbing, and his flesh hand rubbing his rear and thighs. The whisky was still in there: cogs still wet, but everything churning.

Standing bent over, shoulders aching, head pounding, and body sweating, Ed watched the man dart into the construction. He ran an investigatory hand over his slamming head and verified it was free of blood. He wasn't expecting the weak looking king to throw him off a train or rake his bottom half over gravel. "Son," Ed whispered, giving his forehead a quick rub, and pulling his mind from its pounding, "of a bitch." He had coaxed the man into a fight, and now he was getting his merciful ass kicked!

The enemy king was running to the other side of the factory with heart thudding zeal and Ed took after him. In the dark light it was a forest of steel and rock. The ground was unlevel with all the mining, and everything was coated with a fine sediment. There was nothing to this game but speed, and dodging low edges, hopping over small work stations, and blind to everything in his peripherals, Ed was just becoming concerned he was running in a circle, when a large Iron formed spear took out the space alongside his right ear and slit the metal drum of grain sized particles behind him. They spilled out like sunflower seeds, kicking dust and filth into the air like smoke.

"Hey!" Ed cried with outrage. He grabbed the upper lip of the drum, and used a solid right kick to propel himself up the side to the top. In one fluid motion he dropped to his knees, and transmuted the steel base into hosed nozzles. He was sitting in more Chalcocite, and he shot pieces forward, one at a time like small cannon balls, peppering the room.

"We need a little light in here to fight fairly, don't we!" Ed yelled. He fired at the roof and open room synonymously. Chalcocite blew through the thin boards of the ceiling like buckshot and the moon draped in like white curtains. "How about a little fire!" He clapped and activated a second transmutation. Igniting heat forward toward the dust fans. With the collection of silt particles, he merged the deposits so it lit up like a massive sparkler, and began bubbling embers of the exploited contents at more than fifteen hundred degrees. The display was amazing. A ground level firework running like a repeating fountain, and the glow was an open furnace, sweeping the room with a warm orange color.

"You're crazy!" the enemy king yelled, backing from the dust fans. The man's haughty expression had contorted with sudden envious fear. The fight was not fair, his opponent was a god, and he turned a look of horror to Ed's slender frame.

Ready to pounce, Ed ran at the edge of the drum, sparked his arm into a blade, and threw himself from the ledge. The inertia of his jump and the net force weight of his body made the attack nearly impossible to block. _This was going to be it._ The blow was going to be dealt, and if aimed at the neck, it was going to be fatal.

An Alchemist against an Alchemist. Military against the military. Soon to be murdered against the soon to be…

But the enemy king did not respond.

He did not assume offense to thwart a fatal blow like any trained militia servant. Did not tactically prepare for a fall as a skilled fighter, or even raise his hands like a startled civilian in useless defense! He stood still. Unprepared and unfamiliar with impending death, and it changed things.

Ed came down like a rock on the man's chest. Drove the enemy king back like a severed tree, clean blade against his neck, mind spinning. _Why hadn't he tried to define himself? This rouge fugitive with military training and pugilistic skill! Why didn't he….know how?_

Above them a large heated reactor for floatation mining was boiling like a cauldron of lava, and the sound was disturbingly close. Ed was panting with the heat. Tossing spittle to the man's chin with their gaze locked and it so obvious one of them was the hammer and one of them was the spider.

"Why?" Ed whispered, giving his head a fast shake. Why would the military turn on such a weak alchemist? A man without the constitution to even defend himself against another alchemist! A man unable to preserve against becoming the spider! "These are parlor tricks," Ed hissed, narrowing his gaze with offended agitation. He was puffing through his sinuses with bull-like aggression. "Conversion of Iron and heat propelled manipulation of air suggests that you're so far beneath me in skill—this isn't fight!" And it wasn't. "And if you can't beat me," he kept his blade motionless against the man's neck, "if you can't hope to even scratch me," the enemy king's face was full of true and admitting fear, because he recognized his capture, "than what is it about you that frightens them!" Ed fisted the man's lapels with his free hand. "They don't fear me!" Didn't fear the Fullmetal Alchemist. "They don't fear him!" After Mustang destroyed half of Ishval burning them alive. "So why you!" Ed shook the enemy king violently.

"What?" the enemy king gasped, managing a word so soft he looked to fear breathing with the blade just an inch below his Adam's apple.

"You fucking, heard what I said!" After everything he'd done, all the times he'd spit in the Military's eye and forced them to crack the whip until there was blood, he was still here, like this, with them unafraid, and him, so very afraid, because he was vulnerable, and they knew where, for there was no weapon greater than love.

"You're going to explain this to me," Ed sneered, impatient and raging. "If it's information, you had better just spit it out! They've got me out here in the sand, mother fucker. Out here on my knees for whatever makes you so fucking valuable!"

"Information?" the man sounded puzzled. An expression of intense confusion bled in, and for a moment he looked like someone entirely different. Not the parlor trick alchemist, or enemy king, but like a civilian, lowly and helpless. Pinned to the ground wondering why he was being pinned to the ground.

"Yes!" Ed was reeling with anger. "Information! Military Information!"

"The…" the man gapped softly, as if he couldn't get his mind and mouth to connect. "The…military?"

"Are you hard of hearing Imposter Dusnan Mine Worker!" Ed snapped, jerking his blade away from the man's throat and raising it so it could be seen. "Want this through your jaw! Repeat me one more fucking time, and I swear you can suck this blade until it severs your skull!"

The man gave several quick disbelieving blinks. He was staring up at a child less than half his age, wielding a weapon fused to his body, and caught in the churn of something too great to do more than toss him around like a rag doll. _The horror._

"I don't…" the enemy king began, before shots rang out. They came quick, almost five, someone was emptying a clip in their direction, and Ed ducked and hugged the man's top half for cover. The shots peppered into the reactor above them, and each bullet hole sprang a leak of copper sulfide. It rained down in fountain threads like liquid silver, and Ed dove toward the enclosed backmix reactor for cover, yelling.

"The fuck!"

The enemy king dove to the right. Between them a bubbling puddle of oil used to buoy desired minerals for harvest spread forward from the reactors, and Ed yanked his feet back with alarm. An oxygen mixing action was fusing with the particles' interfaces, and Ed dug his metal hand into the Earth as he pulled himself away. His feet kicked into the sand, like a child scurrying from an invisible monster, because the boiling Sulfide would do more than cook the skin it touched, it would melt it. Melt through flesh, muscle, and bone. It would melt a human way like another thin piece of kindling.

"Don't move!" A foreign voice called.

Ed returned his arm from its blade form, and held it forward for protection as if the sun were in his eyes.

The enemy king stood and fled further to the right. Darting toward a row of oval sized stirring tanks for cover, and the foreign voices shouted.

"He's getting away!" More shots rang out.

Furious and swearing like a sailor, Ed clambered to his feet and took after the enemy king like a mad man. He wasn't certain what happened in his mission if someone else killed his target, but it felt suspiciously as if things wouldn't go well. Automail hugging his head in a makeshift helmet, he ran sloppily into the open gunfire, brain calculating. _Probability = 1/8 = 12.5%_ He had only a few seconds, a few seconds of toying with this equation before it was certain something was going to at least graze him!

"Stop your fire! Stop your fire!" Ed screamed, hunched forward and running wildly.

The rocky terrain was sabotaging his speed. The internal friction of the layered sand particles viscosity, translated into a negative gravity, and sweating his ass off he was almost thirty percent slower than normal!

The enemy king was struggling as well. Running with familiarity for a mining factory, but zero skill for open fire, and Ed collided directly into his fleeing king and slammed the man back against a large enclosed metal drum suspended by thick pipes on the top and bottom.

"Just where do you think you're going!" Ed screamed, fisting the man's lapels. "We're not fucking done here!" _Yes, there was still the murdering to be had after all._

"You lead them right to me!" the man shoved Ed back, threw a right hook Ed barely dodged, and Ed staggered back and into a string of thin piping, before throwing a quick front kick the man evaded.

"So you're a novas with alchemy, but can handle basic hand to hand!" This puzzle was coming together slower than shit. "Who did I lead to you!" Was there someone else seeking his target? Someone the military feared would get to him first? "Did you steal military secrets!" Ed found himself suddenly interested. _That would make the man valuable._ Even if he was a noob, military secrets made the stakes high, and they were close to the Aerugo and the Eastern Desert.

Ed slumped back into the piping to rest, and the enemy king did the same. "You steal something they want back?" They were both catching their breath. Both sweating uncontrollably and panting in the dirt clouded air. Things in Ed's mouth tasted salty, but there were crumbs, and his panting was wet. "What do you know?"

"That you're a fucking lunatic." The enemy king was clutching pipes for support. Cautious gaze thin and distrusting

Ed ignored this. "You should tell me what I want to know." Stood panting wildly, with sweat running down his face and back. "I'm trying to be decent about things."

The enemy king gave his mouth a slow wipe, and made a move to escape. Leaned around the pipes, checking for danger, and a barrage of loud shots took aim and went ricocheting wildly.

Stray bullets demolished the piping above Ed's head and he pressed his skull into the crook of his automail arm, and dove to the side of the enemy king.

The man acknowledged this with a dissatisfied look, and Ed said nothing.

"Put your hands up and come out!" a foreign voice called. "You're under arrest!"

"Law enforcement?" Ed asked, shocked.

"You still trying to kill me, kid?" the enemy king asked, side of his mouth cocked down with disgust. The smell of his body odor was strong. It was sweat and musk in desert sand.

Ed nodded, panting through his open mouth. "Yeah."

Ed leaned to the side and considered their options to the right. He wasn't dumb enough to go sticking his head out like a ground hog, but it was clear they had to do something, and taking out the Dusnan police was not on his agenda. They'd be good clean men, from a small town, with families. His mission might have been forcing him to murder, but he wasn't about to begin slaughtering for convenience!

"Come out with your hands up!" the police called. The cop on site was young, and he sounded nervous albeit capable and ready to fire. _Trigger hungry fucks._ "This mine is off limits, and under the jurisdiction of the Amestrian military!"

"What?" Ed whispered, and suddenly, dumbly, he understood they were soldiers, and not police. That's why they were unloading with such confidence. That was why the mine had money. It was under the possession of the military! Dusnan held his target, because Dusnan held the military!

"Hey, hold your fire!" Ed cried. "I'm a state alchemist! We're state alchemists!" This claim received a burst of gun fire, and Ed wiggled deeper into the sand, hugging his head. There were ten to thirteen shots. Two of the thin pipes around them cracked, and began hissing like tea kettles. "Hey! Hey!" Ed screamed. A cloud of rising white steam was swelling overhead like a raincloud. "Hold, fire! Fuck! Hold the fucking fire!" the shots stopped. "This is town property!" They were destroying the place. "This is coming out of the people's tax dollars, you pricks! Get your fingers off the triggers!"

"Put your hands up and come out!" the young soldier yelled, before adding, "Someone get the Lieutenant, we've caught them." The young soldier's voice was coming closer, and Ed imagined the entire team closing in like a pack of hyenas. Individually they weren't built to take on a lion, but they had strength in numbers. "If you don't come out we will shoot to kill! Our orders are to shoot to kill!"

"They are not!" Ed yelled. He couldn't let this peon soldiers steal his kill, and he looked to the enemy king. The man was watching him expectantly, like it was his job to get them out of this. "Dusnan Imposter, we're being surrounded," Ed explained, humor dry. "But, you still have enough time to confess. While we have unfinished business, I'll make a deal to get you out of here." He would get the enemy king away from the rest of the military, so he had time to figure things out. "On the condition you give me your word to spill it all. I want to know what's going on." Ed lifted his eyebrows in a gesture they both understood. _You know I'm good,_ it said, _you know I can do it. Go ahead, make the trade. Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours._

The man looked humored with the offer, but disinterested with a dishonorable death. "I thought you came to kill me, alchemist."

"And I thought you believed I couldn't."

The man cracked a wry smile, grunted a soft laugh, and reached into his vest pocket. Uprooted a large shinning ruby, and Ed looked at the gem. "It's a ruby," the man said. "If you get me to the border, I'll give it to you. No strings attached."

Ed lifted his gaze with sudden confusion. "Get you to the border?" _That was against orders._ "For a ruby?" Was there more to this then there seemed, or was the man trying to buy him as protection. "Wait a minute…" Ed said, suddenly feeling stupid. _This was the guy wasn't it?_ "You're enlisted, right?" _Pay attention,_ Ed's brain suddenly scolded, sounding loud and impatient. _Take a look at things, stupid! Stop thinking of your orders, and analyze the situation! Do you think everything they said was true to the letter!_ "You're a state alchemist too, right!" Ed's eyes dropped to the man's pockets, looking for the chain of a watch, but there wasn't one.

"I'll answer that when we get to the border, partner."

 _Partner?_ Ed looked back to the ruby with befuddled nothingness in his head. It felt like a sea of agitated bats up there. Everything circling and flapping into one coherent image and sound.

"Edward Elric!" the young soldier called. "Come out with your hands up!"

Ed startled, and jerked his gaze around before inching to the side of the pipe in an attempt to see. _They knew he was there?_

"We know you're back there! We have orders to apprehend you!"

"I thought your orders were, shoot to kill!"

The young soldier ignored this. "Come out!"

Ed closed his eyes and tried to think. Mustang's words came floating to the top of things, _They are preparing for a military crime…they are preparing to aid and support you._ Here was where they had placed him, so maybe this was how they planned to get him out. Maybe they were going to escort him out. Pat his head like a good doggie and say, _good boy, no military prison for you._

But that wasn't going to happen with the enemy king sitting very much alive at his side!

Fretting, Ed looked back at the man. In the dim lighting, the stubble about the enemy king's cheeks and chin gave him a black beard, and the man's eyes were thin tired cracks in his skin. He was unshaven, but he looked more than unshaven, he looked like a vagabond, like something too sloppy to ever arrive in the morning and solute. There was doubt the man could spell his name, or write a paper, or work a gun. _There was doubt._ Ed felt it rising up between them like the stink of perspiring fear.

He doubted the man was a fucking soldier, never mind an alchemist! So who the fuck was he! Who the fuck was he trying to kill!

A wealth of gun fire came from a new angle, pegging into the gravel covered floor before their legs. Ed curled his ankles to his chest, with the enemy king wedging up to his side and almost plowed him over. The soldiers were determined. They were scouting about the piping and machinery, trying to find a shot.

"Hey, come on, kid, I don't have all day," the enemy king snapped. Their bodies were overlapping, and when the man turned to Ed, they were practically mouth to mouth. "You ruined this last job, why not get me to the border? I'll give you the entire ruby, dammit. You know how much that's worth?"

Ed stared at the man with flabbergasted confusion. The bats were flying round and round, but they couldn't seem to break free and disperse. _Know how much a ruby is worth? Know the annual salary of a state alchemist?_

"Are you," Ed's tone dropped to thick frustrated confusion, "are you trying to bribe me with a child's toy?" _Just what the hell was going on here! What the fuck was going on!_

The man lifted the ruby back into sight and pushed it forward. It collided into the tip of Ed's nose smelling like an old pocket, but even in the dark it was glimmering like the fantasy of a philosopher's stone.

"You can even pick the border," the man hissed. "I've got to get out of this god forsaken country."

Distantly Ed thought, _you and me both,_ while yanking his face away from the man's offensive hand and rock. He felt betrayed. "What the hell are you talking about!" Things weren't turning out as he imagined them, and this felt wrong, and Ed felt confused that he felt wronged. Discovering this man wasn't quite who they had described felt incapacitating, and why the hell should it! What did it matter if he killed a state alchemist, or a homeless ruby-bearing idiot! What the hell did it matter in the end!

 _It doesn't matter,_ Mustang's voice said. _The court has decided his fate._

"Fine!" the enemy king said, angrily shoving to his feet. The man stood and made a shaky dodge to run, before doing so. Blindly he took off as if escape were his only hope, and there was something educated about that assumption.

The soldiers opened fire, and the bullets were sparking as they bounced off metal equipment. Drums were penetrated and began leaking and hissing. Piping split and shot steam into the air. Something above Ed was punctured, and water came raining down, soaking the dirt.

"Hey!" Ed cried, scrambling after the man. _His target was getting away!_ The man planned to flee to the border, and whatever he had done, it was big enough to escape Amestris entirely, and pay people off with lavish gems!

"Fullmetal Alchemist, stop resisting!" the young soldier yelled. There were at least four of them, and it sounded as if two guns silenced when Ed entered the field. It was clear the orders weren't to shoot him, but Ed found this only mildly comforting considering fifty percent of the soldiers were ignoring said order. Guns were still unloading!

"Hold your fire, dammit!" Ed screamed, covering his head with his automail arm. "Don't fire! I am a state freaking alchemist!" The side of his flesh thigh hit an outward pipe roughly, and the impact sent him staggering. His muscle locked up and sang in pain. "Shit!" Ed cried, grabbing at his leg and stumbling forward before returning to a limped run. Ahead of him metal impacting bullets were twinkling all around the enemy king.

The man knew the terrain, and was picking up speed. His timing was peculiar and he was ducking and jumping at odd times, keeping himself free of injury, by throwing off the soldiers trajectory.

 _Enough of this amateur running bullshit!_ Ed's mind screamed. He dropped to his knees with his right leg a hot amber, and sparked a transmutation. _Enough of this pussy stalling._ He threw up walls of Earthy for protection around himself and the enemy king. He sectioned off the soldiers, and blocked the man's path with one clap of his hands.

Sealing them in a topless box, Ed sat back to rest, panting.

The enemy king went skidding to a halt before colliding into the fresh wall. He threw his palms against it with confusion, and looked up at the impressive fifteen foot height, before spinning around and staring at Ed.

Outside the sound of bullets were pegging the walls like pebbles, and the man looked shocked. Impressed even, and he took a fast excited step forward before he was shot. Straight through the skull. The bullet cracked his forehead like a walnut shell, and like a tree chopped at its base, the man tipped, and fell.

Ed's jaw followed. In what looked like slow motion, he watched the man's face lose his expression the way his body lost its life. The sound of his body dropping to the ground nothing but a dusty thud.

Ed scrambled up, panting a rising swell of panicked swears. A rush of fear came to him. _This was it, asshole. You wanted to fail this mission, and now you have! You were so busy tucking your dick back in fear, you let someone else do the job for you!_

Ed staggered forward, with his automail fisting the side of his head. _No! That wasn't true, was it!_ His legs felt filled with water. They were weak and wobbly, and his feet were five times their size. _Oh fuck, what have I done._ The muscle cramp caused him to limp, and expression twisted as if sneezing, Ed stumbled forward victim to a blow to the head. _I failed my mission. I failed._ General Keshow's kind smiling face appeared in Ed's mind in the dead of night, a few steps into his new apartment. _We had this recent case come up, Fullmetal, and we immediately thought of you._ "Oh fuck," Ed whispered. Frantically he tried to remember Mustang's office: the white paint, the favorite pen, the distinguished desk, anything. What did the Colonel say about situations like this? Ed closed his eyes whispering, "Oh fuck," repeatedly, and tried to recall any helpful piece of advice he had, but all that came to mind was one haunting sentence.

 _…Until you die…you will pay until you think you have nothing left, and then you'll pay some more…_

 _Here you are,_ he thought, arriving at life's teller window, _go ahead and take it, apparently I can't manage it for myself._ If that were true, who was supposed to manage it? He was the older brother, wasn't he? He was the one who'd enlisted, hadn't he? He had said, _I will manage it_ , he had said, _I can manage it_ , and for some asinine reason, of no supporting evidence, the great and powerful Colonel had given the believing okay. _Welcome to the team, Fullmetal. Glad you can manage it. We're a bunch of fellas who can also manage it._

Ed hobbled his way to the fallen body of the enemy king with his expression frozen in the twisted stretching exaggeration of one having a seizure. Had he been procrastinating on purpose? Had he wanted this to happen? Somehow he knew it was true, his instinct wasn't in this kill, and he was begging for another outlet. _But how the fuck else did you think this would work out!_ His mind screamed at him. _Did poorly never occur to you!_

"Oh fuck," Ed whispered. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

The man's vacant eyes were shinning glass marbles in the moonlight, and beneath his skull a red carpet was seeping into the rocks. He was dead, and it was obvious how. The bullet went in and the bullet went out.

Without thinking Ed clapped his right arm into a blade and thrust it outward toward the man's head. He could stab, stab right through the bullet hole, and take credit for the kill. The soldiers might not care, or they might not know, and he outranked them even if they did! He could say, sorry you are mistaken, it was me. I am the winner.

Above the enemy king's face the tip of Ed's blade began a spastic wobble, and Ed looked at it with confusion, and found his entire arm shaking. _There was a lot riding on this._

The soldiers were not confused by a topless Earth made box, and were infiltrating with quick ease. Ed could hear the sound of military issued boots swarming around the edges. The men were crunching over the gravel and calling out to one another, managing the leaking. They would be inside any second, and Ed knew he would lose his last opportunity if he didn't just take it.

 _Stab him!_ the bats yelled. _Stab that dead fuck! What's the matter with you!_ Ed squeaked an embarrassing feminine nose, and broke into a heated dance of panic alongside the body. His knees buckled slightly, and his feet shuffled with dread. His outstretched arm was wobbling, quaking from somewhere in the depths of his soul, but he couldn't move it forward! _There is no time for this,_ the bats said, all together, a harmony of chaotic voices. _If you love Alphonse, you'll stab that corpse._

"I will," Ed said, answering them. He lowered his blade an inch, preparing to pierce the tip of the leaking peanut sized hole. "I can." He was trying to convince himself while trapped in the sight of the man's frontal lobe. _It was not how he imagined it._ He'd always thought of brain resembling sensitive pink flesh mingled with the soft gray of lightly cooked organ meat, but this was red. Of no artificial color, it was the deepest, most intense red, he had ever seen. As if the brain were a sponge so concentrated with human blood it was engorged.

Scattered slightly about his boots there was little pieces of it, and licking his lips repeatedly, Ed pushed his arm forward and touched the sight of the bullet wound. The razor edge of his blade peeled skin off the forehead with the ease of peeling a peach. A river of blood ran down the man's face, swamped his dull open eye, and Ed retched into his clenched jaw.

Opened and closed his eyes in a slow and heavy blink, with the sound of the soldiers growing louder, before returning his gaze back to the man's blood smeared face, and mistaking it for Hughes.

Ed jerked his blade back, choking a gut clenching sound, bile rushing up the back of his throat. Grabbing at his face with flesh hand, wiping, rubbing, and squeezing, he felt like he was losing it!

 _Stab him anyway,_ the bats said. _You think this is about him?_ And it wasn't. Not truly about the target, or the death, or the skill, it was about obedience, and doing what you were told to do, even if it was something you didn't want to do. _Now stab! Stab, stab, stab!_

Brains were going to get everywhere. If he sliced into that skull, and into that meat, red and slimy, it was going to come back with him. Transmute back into the arm, the joints, the hinges, and become part of him. Like his adult decision; the valiant shouldering of the enemy king off his square, in the heroic conquest of his checkmate.

Standing with his boot toes submerged in the man's leaking body, and his blade posed before Hughes's dead face, Ed was motionless, thoughts swirling, when the soldiers broke through, and came in yelling.

"Hands up! Get your hands up, sir! Drop the sword!"

* * *

Hope you all enjoyed. This chapter fought be tooth and nail towards the end. I can't express enough how badly Ed did not want to stab that corpse in the head. _He was adamant!_ Next few chapters are fun. Seriously, the end of this story is like going down a slide. Fast and delightful.

Chapter 16: _Lion Among Hyenas,_ will be posted September 9, 2017.

Hope to see you there.


	17. Lion Among Hyenas

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Sixteen  
 _Lion Among Hyenas_

\- mirage –

Standing before the corpse of the enemy king Ed looked back at the advancing soldiers, expression a bit green, and eyes a bit disbelieving. They came running, weapons up and trained on him, shouting directions to each other, and gesturing for him to back from the body.

"Drop the sword!" They were yelling. "Drop the sword, sir!"

Ed lifted his hands and took a step to the side. "I am a state alchemist," he said softly, somehow his voice was still working. "I am not holding a weapon."

One young soldier appeared to be leading, and he entered with a pistol raised and ready like Hawkeye. "Edward Elric?" he asked, creeping forward in tiny steps.

"Yeah, that's me." _The mission fail-er, the, can't-put-your-hand-in-other's-heads-er._

"Mr. Elric, please drop to your knees!" the young soldier ordered, beckoning another soldier forward, and ordering a quick, "Let the task force know we've secured him." The soldier wasn't much older than Havoc, and looked hungry for a good mark. "This has to be him, blonde, braid, and a metal arm."

"What about the metal leg?" the second solder asked.

"Oh yeah." The first soldier's gaze dropped to Ed's legs, and Ed considered the man critically. "Show us your left leg," the man ordered.

Ed found it amazing how quickly he was came down from the old threat's nausea, to face the new threat, and calmly asked, "Who is in charge here?"

"Now!" the soldier cocked his weapon, narrowing his gaze with nervous uncertainty, and twitching fingers. Ed looked at the man's barrel with growing annoyance before to the crowd of soldiers. Whatever they had been told, it certainly wasn't to underestimate the Fullmetal Alchemist, and eight had weapons facing him. "Last chance, show us your left leg."

The soldiers had secured the entrance to Ed's transmuted box, and now so many of them were inside, it looked painted with Amestrian blue. Two rushed to the fallen enemy king. Covering the body and preparing to photograph the scene.

Impatient with Ed's noncompliance, the young soldier stepped forward and gave the shin of Ed's left leg a solid kick. The sound of a steel toe meeting a steel leg was lost on no one, and a quick victorious smile swept the young soldier's face, before Ed kicked him in the crotch.

"How do you like those reflexes?" Ed asked, watching the man double over, red-faced and coughing. "I'm not so much in the habit of being kicked." He raised his arms a bit higher when the sound of cocking weapons went off like a string of firecrackers. "I'd relax those fingers, unless one of you wants to be the schmuck who shoots a state alchemist," Ed said angrily, fanning a dark glare through the sea of gun barrels and peeking faces. Several guns were heard decocking, and the young soldier in front of Ed choked a deep throated noise of strain. "Next person who touches me without my authorization gets the same." Ed said flatly.

The soldiers rolled the sheet covered enemy king onto a tarp to carry him out, and it was like watching someone steal your meal. _Lost your meat to the hyenas, coward._

A team of six soldiers entered, and approached the wheezing young officer with quick confident steps. They wore the same identical military uniform, but immediately there was something different about them. The current soldiers were Eastern base soldiers, living a small time life, with small town concerns. They were hungry for activity, and a chance to prove their patriotic duty, but the advancing soldiers were of a higher order. Calm, collected, and arrogant. They stunk of Central Command, and Ed rolled his eyes as they approached.

Demanded a loud, "I want to see who is in charge."

The newly arrived leading soldier assumed command with nothing more than a disinterested glance at the young man grasping his crotch and gagging at Ed's feet. The look said it all: _Amateurs._ He was tall, with half mast eyes, and he unfolded a piece of paper and extended it to Ed like a warrant.

"We knew we would find you here, Fullmetal Alchemist, and the orders are to apprehend you by force."

Ed scoffed. "On what charges?" _Mustang had better be right about all this._

"For aiding and embedding a criminal at large, wrongfully trespassing on military property, acting in opposition of your direct orders, and the list goes on from there," the man said, giving a smug little smile. Ed kept his mouth shut, but his brow felt the weight of it all coming together.

 _Oh, there's the last puzzle piece. Of course, they're fucking you in the ass, stupid._

This had to be a mistake.

"And to think this is you," the tall solider said. "The great Fullmetal Alchemist." The man gave Ed a quick once over with his eyes.

Ed knew he looked a bit disheveled after hiding in the box and fighting in the dirt. With his arm a blade, and his body tired, sweat drenched, and filled only with whisky and cinnamon rolls, he kept the best tough-guy expression he could, because that was his best at this hour.

"I always wondered what you looked like, and I never expected I'd be the one to bring you in." The man gave Ed a confident smile. "I am Lieutenant Ruker."

"Bring me in?" Ed repeated.

"We were deployed twenty hours ago, when you first went AWOL. Who would have thought we would have caught you so quickly." Lieutenant Ruker lifted a hand and beckoned for movement. His team came forward. Two skirting Ed and grasping to restrain his arms.

Ed jerked free with a quick, "Hold on!" The soldiers hesitated, because he wasn't resisting, but they didn't move away. "You're not taking me anywhere. I'm in the middle of a classified mission! I need to contact Central Command."

"I recommend you don't resist your apprehension, Mr. Elric," Ruker said, tone disinterested but oddly sincere. "It will look worse for you." Ed sputtered a panicked breath and glanced around, but the soldiers were again waiting. They could see he was undecided, and were granting him the courtesy of his rank. One of two things was going to happen: he was going to cooperate, or there was going to be a fight, and it was going to be big.

 _They are preparing to aid and support you._

Okay Colonel, Ed thought, dropping his gaze to his feet. You had better be right about all this.

Ruker's team secured Ed's hands behind his back and fit them inside wooden handcuffs. The quality wasn't bad, so the sanding job about the wrists was smooth, but the size and shape of the thin wooden block was obnoxious.

"I need to contact Central Command," Ed said, voice low and frantic when he felt the wood lock around his flesh wrist. He was powerless like this.

"Who should I get on the line?" Ruker asked, expression now stoic.

Ed licked his lips when Flame Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang, rose up his throat, before whispering, "General Keshow."

Ruker lifted a humored eyebrow of surprise. "Then we won't need to call him," Ruker said, growing a pleased smile. "My orders are to detain you for him." Ed felt a rush of relief. _The General was coming to him! The Colonel was right, they had everything orchestrated from his in to his out, and this was how it worked._ "How interesting," Ruker said, giving a soft cluck of his tongue. "The orders of the very man you were defying, is the one you want to call."

* * *

Allowing yourself to be apprehended was only voluntary for the first few minutes you decided to cooperate. Then your hands were restrained, your alchemist watch was taken, there was a gun to your temple, and the partnership quickly moved from compliance to surrender.

Ed was transported in a military prison vehicle with three soldiers sitting in front of him and two on either side. The entire time everyone was staring at everyone. The soldiers on either side of the door had their weapons drawn, and because they were in the desert this made Ed nervous. One speed bump and they might discharge nervously.

The team admitted Ed's capture was categorized with the highest threat level, and they told Ed this because they were curious. The constant staring was fascination, as if he were a magic trick. One blink, and they might miss that spectacular thing he was going to do, because you didn't get classified with the highest threat level for nothing.

When they moved him they did so with weapon's drawn, a man on each of his arms, and they never released his hands. The ride was long, and when they opened the back and everyone exited, Ed found himself in the middle of nowhere. In all directions there looked to be nothing but sand, and one of Ruker's men held an open map, nose deep.

"What is this?" Ed asked, raising his voice over the wind.

Dawn was not yet cresting, and in the open space the wind was brutal. Soaring over the plains unrestrained and blowing sand. Visibility was so poor the road they'd arrived on was nearly indistinguishable, and there was nothing, save the single one-level rectangular building sunk half in the sand, and looking like a death trap.

"Where the hell are we!" Ed demanded. His coat was flapping behind him like a cape, and the men were trying to shield their eyes and faces.

"Mr. Elric, you're being detained here," Ruker said, holding his uniform hat to his head to keep the sand at bay.

"Out in the middle of fucking nowhere!" Ed cried, going rigid with panic. "Fuck no, I'm not! Take me back into town! You can detain me at whatever military or police establishment is suitable until moving me back to Central!"

How long were they driving, and in what direction? _Were they even still in Amestris!_

Ruker's bottom lip pursed with a bit of confusion, before he said, "You're not being moved back to Central."

"What!" Ed choked. The soldiers on his arms began to advance to the building, but Ed dug his heels down, and cried out, "Hold on! Hold on! What the hell do you mean I'm not going back to Central!"

Ruker gave a quick shrug. "Our orders are to detain you here. The General will be coming to meet with you in one to two weeks."

"One to two weeks!" Ed screamed. He struggled, but restrained he was outmatched, and the soldiers dragged him inside. They were eager to get out of the blowing wind and pulled him over the thresholds, and took deep cleansing breaths in the stale hot air. The building was made of fat cinderblocks, like a bunker, with few high narrow windows. In the night temperature it was absorbing the cool air, but was still pushing an easy ninety degrees. About the clean cement floor they carried sand, and they were all sweating.

Ed felt frantic, and swept his eyes over the interior. The building's construction was below ground level, but the walls were a standard eight feet. A brief descending staircase was the entrance, and the sand poured in and formed a tiny mound the soldiers stamped over. Everything was solid concrete, a basic rectangle design, and Ed could see the transmutation scarring in the floor and walls. It frightened him because the building was fresh, the construction was new, and while the smell of the desert was leaking in, it was still possible to pull the crisp scent of unsullied materials off the walls. _Whatever this place was, it was built for him._

Ruker stepped into the narrow entrance where a wall of cell bars locked the interior from the exterior, and looked about with distaste before glancing between his men, and asking, "Who has keys for this?"

Ed tipped his head down and closed his eyes with his stomach clenching painfully. They weren't comfortable with the keys. They'd never been there before. The building had no purpose but to house him, and the fear this brought was crippling. _No one would know where he was, and no one would know if that's how the committee wanted it._ They wouldn't be identified on any map, or military blueprints, so even if Mustang started hunting for him, this would throw the man a solid curve ball.

A team of six had transported him out here, and all six thought he was a military traitor. Loyal to Ruker. If they were ordered to keep their mouths shut, especially for the brief timeframe of a few weeks, they would, and Ed tried not to think about how the building was conveniently nestled into the desert. _It would be easy for a team of six common soldiers to just bury the thing in the sand._ The building would disappear, him included, and it wouldn't take more than a few hours.

A soldier came forward, unlocked the entrance cell door, and they all filed in. Ed cooperated, but much of his cooperation was overpowered, and he was dragged in. There was a single switch, a backup generator, and a single bare lightbulb lit the space. The bleak open floorplan scripted a basement office. There were two desks, a file cabinet, and metal bench along the far wall with easy shackles to anchor handcuffs. There was nothing spent presentation wise, the place was a prison.

Under the bare hanging light their sweat glistening bodies looked roasted and wet, and Rucker took charge.

"Okay, let me have two men at the door at all times." Two soldiers left; one halting at the external entrance, and the second at the interior cell wall. "The orders are to detain you here Mr. Elric, so for the time being we are going to house you in one of the provided cells, is that understood?" Ed lifted his gaze to Ruker and kept silent. As much as he didn't know what to say, his voice felt as if it would fail him. "Now, we are in the desert, so I'm going to ask if you feel you are hydrated enough."

"No," Ed said, voice barely a whisper while thinking of his missing Whisky bottle. _How nice that would be now. Liquid courage, Havoc was right._

"What?" Ruker asked, leaning closer.

"No, probably not," Ed said quickly. Ruker gave a nod and looked to the last soldier in wait. The man holstered his weapon and left to the only two doors within the room and began investigating for supplies.

Gaze locked with Ed, Rucker called after the man, "Get him water, and something to eat!" and the kindness was unexpected.

Ed took a second glance at Ruker. The man held a surprising bit of education and practicality to him, and this was pleasantly unforeseen. Ed felt the smallest glimmer of hope break before Rucker smashed it.

"Do not misinterpret my commands as leniency, Mr. Elric," Ruker snapped, sensing the change. "Every man here is loyal to our country, and we don't appreciate traitors." Ed gave a quick nod. _No, of course we didn't._ "My orders are to contain you in good condition, and I can't do that if you're dehydrated and starving." Ruker gave a quick jut of his chin toward the two men restraining Ed's arms. "Search him."

The soldiers stepped back, taking Ed with them, before one dropped to a knee, and began unfastening Ed's boots.

"For what?" Ed asked with disgust.

"Anything you could use to draw an array," Ruker said smartly.

Ed lifted his gaze with his expression curled in disgust, and his thoughts matted up and sticking to one another creating nonsense. _They didn't know he didn't need to draw an array?_ Ed stared at Ruker in shock, and cooperated as the solder at his boots, completed un-strapping the right and wanted his leg lifted so it could be pulled off. _That meant one very important thing._ He lost his right and then his left boot, and the man was searching them. _They knew next to nothing about him_ , _because how—how, could you forget something that big._

Ruker was just handing this information away. He may have been educated, and he may have been a Lieutenant, but he was still either an Eastern base Lieutenant or a Central small fry. He was doing the best job he could, but it was piss poor compared to an alchemist. _With satisfaction Ed through of Havoc running this operation five hundred times better._ They were spilling information so freely it was shamefully irresponsible. They weren't given a picture of him, only a description. They weren't aware of his talents, but were told to fear his abilities. They had no details. The General was keeping them in the dark. _Maybe everything was going to be okay._

"I don't have anything on me," Ed said, watching the man finish his boots and set them aside. This wouldn't make sense for a normal alchemist, so Ed added, "I left it in the factory. It was basic chalk." No one acknowledged this, and the soldier on his knees moved onward and grasped the front of Ed's belt to unfasten it. "Oh, come on," Ed complained. "Are you serious? I don't have anything on me." The soldier was struggling with his belt, and Ed sighed. "Hold the back of the buckle, that helps." The soldier paused, glancing up uncertainly, before taking a firm grip on the buckle, and things were coming apart.

The soldier who left for supplies returned with a box and set it on the first desk in the room, before adding a suitcase from the prison car.

"Mr. Elric, do you have any allergies?" Ruker asked.

"No," Ed said miserably. His belt was opened, and the soldier restraining his arms hung on tight while the second yanked his pants down his legs.

"Are you on any prescription medication?"

"No."

"Any medication?"

"No."

"What an easy prisoner," Ruker teased, stepping back and investigating the box of supplies. He broke into soft conversation with the inventory soldier, while Ed watched the one at his feet feel through his pants and check his pockets. There was nothing for them to find, and so they found nothing. They moved on, releasing his hands with him at gun point, and taking his jacket and shirt. They checked everything before looking in his mouth and asking him to release his hair. They were good at searching for contraband in the East, Ed would give them that. Standing in his underwear at gunpoint the soldier who had been searching him paused with concern while staring at his automail before speaking to Ruker.

"Lieutenant?" Ruker looked up from where he had seated himself at the first desk. He was humoring himself by sorting through supplies with casual disinterest. "I don't know how to search the automail, sir."

"There is nothing in it," Ed said.

Ruker glanced from his man, to the automail, to Ed, and back to the automail. "Mr. Elric, how do you feel about us detaching the automail?"

"The same way you'll feel when I stop cooperating," Ed said flatly. "And that will begin the minute you think about touching my automail." Ruker was holding a thin can of tuna fish, and he knocked it thoughtfully against the desk before breaking a false smile. He looked to his men, gave his head a small shake, and they moved on. The soldier conducting the search took Ed's clothes to the second desk and opened the suitcase.

"What did you do that has you under such tight military custody, Mr. Elric?" Ruker asked, moving to sit on the front of the desk.

"I thought you had my list of offenses," Ed said irritably. "Doesn't that tell you what I did?"

Ruker snorted and dropped his gaze to the tuna fish can. Playfully, he began tapping it into his palm, before looking up with a soft, "I mean, what you really did."

"That's classified."

"Classified," Ruker repeated thoughtfully. "You know, we might feel differently, and treat you differently, if we knew more about what was going on." Ed thought this was probably true, but having messed things up well enough to this point, he had no plans to mess them up anymore, and he kept silent. Classified was supposed to mean classified, period. "You seem…very level headed for a military traitor."

Ed gave Ruker a dark look and repeated a firm, "It's classified," before noticing Ruker's man slipping on rubber gloves, and amending to a more amiable tone, said, "Lieutenant, I'm not a man who commonly asks for favors, but while I am here, if I ask for any they are mutually beneficial." Ruker was frowning with skeptical consideration, before giving a nod he understood, and Ed nodded toward the soldier in rubber gloves. "Call off your man."

The soldier stopped with a bit of surprise he was entered into conversation.

Ruker considered this for a moment before giving a lifeless shrug. "It's standard protocol."

"I know what it is," Ed said angrily. "Call him off just the same."

Ruker stood with sudden interest. "Have something to hide, Mr. Elric?"

Suddenly the enemy king's words flittered through Ed's mind, _It's a ruby. If you get me to the border, I'll give it to you,_ and suddenly that didn't sound so bad. He could have given the thing away, someone would have liked it as a gift. He could have taken off running. They wouldn't have caught him. He could have fled his way to Xing, walked right up to the palace and brought his fist down on the door. Made Ling put him up, and spent the following weeks lounging around in silk, eating grapes, and humoring women he was too nervous to bed.

Somehow things weren't really feeling like the triumphant adult-checkmate he was expecting.

Ruker was smiling as he spoke, because he, like his men, were curiously fascinated by the danger he presented. For whatever he'd done or could do that had the military acting so cautious when they were usually so conceited.

"Our orders were to search your thoroughly, because you are so dangerous," Rucker explained, and Ed handled it well.

Responding slowly, coolly, with a negotiating, "But I'm not going to be dangerous today." He lifted his eyebrows in truce. "My ass and I just happen to have a platonic relationship, and that's how we're aiming to keep it." The joke was well received, and the soldiers chuckled.

It was too well received. Ed could feel himself turning into the amiable hostage, whose requests could be superseded, and the soldier in the rubber gloves looked too at ease with defying him, so Ed added a confident, "I will break your jaw," and the man stopped laughing. "I don't want to, but I will," Ed confessed, "and it will hurt something awful."

Ruker did not respond well to the sudden threat, and jolted upward, before approaching Ed quickly in three solid steps.

"I need to contact Central," Ed met Rucker's gaze bravely. "I need to make a phone call."

"The General is already scheduled to see you. There is no reason for you to call," Ruker said, tone solid and nonnegotiable.

Ed closed his eyes and gave his head a soft shake. "I need to call someone else."

"Who?"

Ed pinched his lips. _Mustang, he needed to call Mustang!_ "Someone," he whispered.

"Someone, is no one," Ruker said, before throwing an angry point at his gloved man. "Longsman, get the gloves off." Longsman looked surprised. "Bluff or no bluff, I don't need anyone with a broken jaw." Ruker became hostile. "But you don't call the shots around here," he said softly, "Am I making myself clear?"

"I got it." Ed offered a quick obliging nod.

"No," Ruker said. "No, you don't." He snapped his fingers and Ed found himself tackled. Longsman and the other soldier were on his arms in seconds, restraining him into a solid statue forced to face Ruker. "You don't appreciate it, and you don't recognize it," Ruker said. "And that is because you are an alchemist." _You conceited alchemists._ "And a traitor."

"I'm not a traitor," Ed snarled.

"Then what are you?" Ruker asked angrily.

Ed scowled. He closed his eyes and tried to count to three. _Keep it together!_ "That's classified."

Ruker gave a few quick nods of agitation before waving for his men to move and they did. Ed found himself turned around and doubled over before his shorts were ripped down. He struggled immediately, jerking his shoulders, and panting through his nose, mute.

Ruker announced a loud laughing, "Don't panic, Mr. Elric, it's not so bad!" But it was. Against his pride Ed cooperated so it could end soon. Longsman didn't touch, as he now had no gloves, but he did bend down as if to use a telescope, and take a good long look. It was humiliating, and Ed stared at the sand an inch from his face and clenched his jaw. Trying to handle it with dignity.

This humored the men, and Rucker announced a, "Good form, Mr. Elric," joining the casual laugher of the men as Ed was pulled upright, and stood catatonic with his eyes closed. "Get him dressed," Ruker ordered, and everything went back on.

It was found the building only had three rooms. The main room they were in, a lavatory, and a single holding cell. It was oddly shaped. Thin and very narrow in the back right hand corner of the thin and narrow room housing it. After the cot, which was up against the wall, there was only three feet of space extra. At the base of the cot, only four. There wasn't enough room to comfortably walk, or organize any type of activity and Ruker investigated it with Ed restrained and at gun point. The man was paranoid Ed would find something to draw an array with, and had the small cage swept and mopped.

While this happened, Ed was ordered to sit in the middle of the main room. He was given a bottle of water, can of tuna fish, can of beans, and told to eat and drink it all. It wasn't a request, and Ed sat, trying to relax, and stop the pounding stress headache that had snuck up on him as he ate with his fingers and downed the bottle.

One to two weeks of this hell seemed unbearable at the moment, and trying to imagine how Alphonse would fair without him for so long was nerve wracking. Every time Ed tried to analyze how he would manage locked in this place, with Alphonse alone and helpless, his stomach took on the pain of a strong slugging impact, and he pushed it from his mind.

He finished his meal, and cooperated when they cuffed his hands in front of him and took him to the cell. They had cleaned it well, rubbed down all interior cement blocks to make sure there was nothing loose for him to use to scratch an array, and polished the bars of the cell for the same reason. After all this, they didn't realize there wasn't a low iron hook to shackle him too, only one eight feet up, against the wall at the head of his cot, and they stalled, unsure of what to do with this.

"We don't have enough extra chain," Longsman said, standing in the cell staring up at the eye of the small metal nub. Ruker stood outside the cell frowning in deep thought before glancing at Ed.

Ed felt filthy. It was one thing to wear clothing and turn them into dirty clothing rolling around in dirt and sweating your ass off, but it was another to take them off, and then put them back on. He felt as if he had dressed straight from his laundry hamper, and he gave Ruker a sour look. His mouth tasted like tuna fish.

"Sir?" Longsman said, glancing to Ruker for direction.

"Lock him in, and we'll request more," Ruker said. Two of the soldiers behind Ed pulled him forward as Longsman squeezed out of the cell, and Ed was shocked.

"Wait a minute," he snapped. He couldn't have his arms stuck above his head for two weeks! Maybe the automail, but not the flesh one. "Give me something, and I will transmute you some extra chain, no funny business." Ruker shook his head with immediate dismissal of this idea. "Ruker, I can't stay in this position for two weeks," Ed said, growing a bit panicked, as he was pressed back against the wall with the soldiers pulling his arms over his head. "You know I can't." That was god damn common sense wasn't it!

"We will obtain more chain, Mr. Elric, not to worry," Ruker said confidently.

Ed felt the wooden block unshackle before cold metal wrapped around his flesh wrist. "Your missing the point!" Ed snapped. "I don't want to stay like this for even an hour! I will transmute you more chain."

Ruker stepped up to the cell bars and gave Ed the leveled look of one who realizes he's being cheated right before he's almost had. "And I'm sure an alchemist as skilled as you are, could make that chain faulty," Ruker said, pausing for dramatics. "Isn't that right?"

"But I won't," Ed said firmly. His wrists were cuffed into a one foot spreader bar, and attached to three feet of chain. Held by the iron eye, it was a decent set up. "I give you my word on that, Lieutenant."

Ruker chuckled. "The word of a traitor." Ruker nodded for the men to leave the cell, and Ed glanced up at his hands. They were stuck between the edge of the cot and the floor forcing him to stand at a slight angle. Climbing onto the cot wouldn't alleviate this, and he'd be stuck in a crouch. This was not acceptable for someone with automail. He didn't like to think of it as a handicap, but it sure as hell could be, and his body was not going to allow him to remain in these cramped unmerciful positions for hours on end. He would start developing serious medical conditions in less than ninety six hours.

"I told you I'm not a traitor," Ed said. The cell door was closed, and it was loud. It didn't fit together smoothly, so the edge of the door cut against the edge of the cell, scrapping in an ear paining sound until clashing together. "You don't think I am, even you're catching on, and that's why you're a Lieutenant," Ed said, voice a bit rushed with his panic. Ruker's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but vanity could get you somewhere, and Ed was trying. "Because you can think, and you can tell I'm a man of my freaking word, but I'll tell you this," Ed said, lowering his voice, "when this gets cleared up, I'll still be a state alchemist, and you'll still be a Lieutenant out here in this shitter, so I suggest, in the kindest way I can, that you start thinking about that." Ruker's eyes widened with a bit of surprise. He was expecting begging, and that's not what he was getting. "Think of all the buddies I have in high up places," Ed said, breaking a weak smile. His lips were dry, and the sudden grin hurt his mouth. "You know we get together on weekends and just smoke cigars and shoot the shit? That's how buddy-buddy we are." Ed lifted his eyebrows for a few grinning nods. _Yeah, that's how tight. That's how fucking tight we are._

Then Ruker said something that confirmed he wasn't a dummy after all. "Well then, Mr. Elric," Ruker said softly. "I hope those buddy-buddies come through for you now.

* * *

Thanks, everyone! I enjoyed meeting Rucker when this story was written. He's not such a bad guy, come on.

Chapter 17: _Brigantine of Misfits,_ will be posted Thursday September 21, 2017.  
 _(Oh you lucky ducks! I will be in Tampa Florida this weekend seeing a very close friend of mine and my schedule will be too hectic to handle posting responsibly so rather than delay I'm posting early – continued apologies for my lengthy unforeseen absence during this piece)._

Hope to see you there!


	18. Brigantine of Misfits

.

* * *

Board of Squares  
Chapter Seventeen  
 _Brigantine of Misfits_

\- mirage -

Left alone in Central, Falman ordered fifteen beef burritos for lunch, and ate with Breda, Fuery, and Havoc in relative silence.

The two empty desks in the room made things serious. The lack of any updates made things worse.

"How far do you think he got?" Havoc asked, right cheek full and chewing. It was obvious by now that Alphonse was not in his apartment, and their team wasn't being updated on purpose.

Falman looked unimpressed. "Not that far if he's been so sick." At his side Fuery was wedging jalapenos into his burrito. "And just relax," Falman had unbuttoned his uniform and the lapels had separated lazily like Breda's. "They're not going to call." Mustang didn't want anyone else drawn onto a chessboard with a rogue enemy king. He wouldn't risk it, not even for Ed, and it had more to do with the obligatory duty to protect your young than anything to do with any of them individually.

Chewing, Havoc sagged down his chair, spine becoming a banana. "I should have gone out there with the kid." The tone was guilty. There was nothing like your first kill. "Ed's out there popping his bullet cherry, and here we are," Havoc lifted his hand and dropped it, "having lunch," repeated the gesture, hand just as heavy. "I could have, gone out, and staked it five or six hundred miles away."

Fuery was feeding his burrito into his mouth as if it were a saw going through a mill, and Breda grunted with disapproval.

"If Ed didn't pull the trigger," Havoc lifted his hand in the shape of a gun, squinted his left eye as if aiming, and then cocked his hand upward as if he had fired, "I could have taken the man out myself. End of story."

"That defeats the purpose," Breda said, eyes closed, and mouth chewing. "We're limited to our means, and we didn't know what the kid was up to until it leaked." Breda took a large bite and continued speaking with a beef surrounded pepper almost slipping from his mouth. "And we still don't know where he's going."

The room went silent. Hawkeye had said Ed's mission was of intense importance. Confessed, in a soft whispered voice, with them close enough to be lovers, before snatching his forearm with a stern, "Be ready to take my call, Jean." He was good at hitting things from so many miles away. "There's a chance things could, escalate." With Mustang partially involved, or Mustang entirely involved. Inheriting the problem, or owning the problem, like a man closing his fist around a grenade to control the blast.

After Hawkeye had shared this with him, Havoc left her, sought Breda and Fuery and told them together while imagine Ed holding a grenade, and Mustang trying to take it away.

No one knew who told Falman or why. The man was useful, but only as useful as a getaway driver at a bank robbery: too nervous to help rob the vault and easily substituted with anyone who could press a gas pedal.

"If this was about a target, there wouldn't be all this fuss," Falman said, surprising all of them. "Any of us could have ensured the elimination, but none of us were asked." It was true. "So if we want to get involved, we're going to have to do so independently." Breda stopped chewing, and they stared. Falman's omission had him looking a bit stiff. Refolding the napkin at the end of his burrito, he cleared his throat and spoke a rushed, "Fuery," turned to the man, "can't you do something with all these spaghetti noodles?"

Fuery was popping jalapeno slices like candy. "I can do a lot." Tone only slightly offended, with no reaction to the derogatory pet name they'd assigned the wealth of electronic wires he kept harboring. "What do you have in mind?"

"Can you stop eating those things?" Havoc asked, wincing.

Falman ignored this. "Why don't we see what all the people involved in Ed's appeal are up to? We shouldn't rule our blackmail." Fuery stopped popping jalapenos. "Think about it." The group fell speculatively silent. "Ed needs a large military favor, and that means he has an equivocally large toll to pay."

"And this mission is equivalent exchange?" Havoc asked with a bit of disbelief.

Breda corrected this with a stern, "Ed was assigned this mission, because his talents make him well suited for it." Expression displeased with them. "Amestrian law still has crimes where the penalty is death and military espionage is one of them."

Fuery unwrapped his second burrito and sprinkled sliced jalapenos over the top like he were dropping sprinkles onto a cake.

"Even with Ed a virgin assassin," Breda continued, "the assignment is reasonable. It shouldn't create all this attention."

Havoc and Fuery glanced to Falman, expecting a rebuttal and the man flustered, choking a fast, "Well," struggling, before retorting with a sharp, "We all know Ed." And Ed's plans liked to go awry.

It had been six long years of the same repetitive cycle. Objective + Edward = Complication = a fifty percent chance of disaster, fifty percent chance the Colonel became involved, fifty percent chance Ed owed the military money for damages, fifty percent change there were heated debates in the office afterward, and the list went on and on and on.

"Shit," Havoc said, "Fuery, you think you can wire tap that General's office?"

Fuery broke out coughing, and sprayed a slew of jalapenos across his desk, before croaking a hoarse, "What?" Gagging. "What!" Wide eyed. "That's a General's office! No way, I can't!"

"Yes, you can," Havoc insisted.

"Yes, you can," Breda echoed.

"Didn't you hear what Falman said?" Havoc asked. "About the blackmail?"

"Yeah, but this kind of thing really begs the Colonel's permission," Fuery mumbled. He looked to Breda for support, but the man was a rock, and he always dropped on Havoc's side. "I don't know."

"Just do a few calls or something." Havoc was pushing hard. "Not a lot, just a little."

"And if something happens, how do we keep our names out of this?" Fuery demanded. "How would we even convince a suspicious party the Colonel wasn't involved?" No one said anything, and Fuery scowled. "Fine," surrendering miserably, "but I'm going to need some help. You can't just tap any location. If I don't have permission, I'll need to plug in where the transmission wires are feeding together." Havoc gave a committed nod. "So I need to do that in the Intelligence wing, and that means one of you will have to get me through Sheska."

Havoc gave his knee a slap and stood quickly. Breda followed pushing the whole of his burrito into his mouth so his cheeks were bulging, and Falman startled.

Rushed a quick, "We might try seeking permission first, what do you think?" Looking worried there would be no appetite for the idea, and there wasn't.

Havoc was leaving for the door with Breda following, and chewing quickly, Breda looked back and spoke a calm, "Fuery says we don't need it." Continuing on. "We can patch in I Wing."

Fuery threw his half eaten lunch to his desk and spat a sarcastic, " _I said_ ," rushing after them. " _I_ said that, _I said_."

* * *

The least skilled with Fuery's spaghetti was Breda. The man had the thick meaty hands of a combat soldier, and was no good with thin delicate wires, so he was nominated to distract Sheska.

Drenched in cologne he walked stiffly to the Intelligence Wing reception desk where she was working and stopped. Motionless and mute until she looked up, curious, and wearing a weak polite smile.

"Hi Lieutenant," Sheska greeted. "What can I do for you?"

Peering into Intelligence from the hall behind Breda, Havoc watched with Falman and Fuery, and whispered a low, "He's never going to be able to pull this off."

"He better pull it off," Fuery said angrily. "Cause I am not doing this anywhere else. The static on the line will give us away." He required one extra set of hands, one look out, and this left Breda, their bull in a china shop, as the obvious decoy.

Breda was a statue. Bottom lip out like a pug, body uncomfortable and cocooned in a perfect uniform, with his scalp tingling from the comb Havoc had wracked through it.

He was supposed to do something flirtatious, something distracting. Lure her into conversation, coax her away from the desk, and make the timeframe significant enough the rest of his team could sneak past, but…

"Lieutenant?" Sheska looked unsettled by him. Took out her sign-in book and slid it across the desk as if carrying out the motions to spare them the developing awkwardness. His rank didn't authorize his admittance, and glancing at the open pages Breda felt uncertain how to proceed while certain he was failing the only role he had in this mission.

"Sheska?

"Yes, Lieutenant?" She was prompt, expression beginning to wince. "Are you," she seemed to be searching for the right word, "all right?"

"No." It leapt out, and her look of worry increased. "I mean," he tried to think of something clever, before surrendering to honesty. "Is it hot in here?" He felt like he was overheating.

"I think the temperature is fine." She sounded concerned. Had never seen him look so uncomfortable and discomfited. "But you, you look as if you might be coming down with something."

"You know I feel really dizzy." Breda pinched at his sinuses. Forget appealing conversation, he'd captured her attention with this. "Have we been in conversation long?" A combination of alarm and fear. "I can't even remember what we were talking about."

"Oh, wow," she said softly, slowly rising from her chair. "I think you should see someone." She pointed to the door in a subtle plea he leave.

"You may be right." Breda reached forward and captured her hand. "Could you walk me?" She startled with the touch, but dropped the Records' keys and began skirting the desk to assist.

Watching with a sense of confusion, Fuery elbowed Havoc and whispered a harsh, "What the hell is he doing?"

Havoc looked on, clueless. "I have no idea." It was the most unappealing romantic gestures he'd ever witnessed. "But it damn well better work."

"I can't believe she's falling for this!" Fuery was astonished. "I wouldn't have gone with him if I were Sheska. This looks so awkward."

Falman had found the sight tormenting and relocated to the hall entrance to keep a visual. Behind them he was shuffling impatiently, but there was no crime for peeking around the corners of low traveled departments.

As soon as they had an opening, they ran. Swiping her key off the desk as they breezed past.

* * *

Alphonse Elric arrived in Dusnan with the sun still high and the afternoon bright. It was a hundred and ten degrees, and holding his flesh arms out to the sun on the arrival platform Alphonse considered them with a smile.

Arriving in the East, he could feel the sun soaking into his skin. Could feel his blood vessels dilating, and imagined the miniature suns of small golden atoms leaching into his blood stream and traveling through his body. The air was dry, but the wind was warm, and he didn't mind it. He had been struggling with keeping his temperature up, not down, and with a thermometer tucked into his back pocket, he didn't expect to have a problem.

Ed had taken the seven o'clock train, it wasn't supposed to stop at Central but it had, and now they were both guests of Dusnan. The line had run a large looping circuit, hitting many Eastern stations so it was difficult to decipher Ed's departure. Alphonse had taken a Central train to Awrosut and then connected to Irsukyain in order to board the train Ed had ridden on because it was still in motion.

There he asked the staff if anyone ordered coffee with fifteen sugars and three creamers, because it was an order most didn't forget. An order that years ago always left the receiver protesting, and Ed fuming, because the general consensus was that one cup of coffee was not the best place for fifteen sugar packets, and this was still true now, with Ed an adult.

The staff remembered Ed.

Described him as melancholy, alone, and assuming a seat at the back of the car. There were no memorable conversations or interactions, so what, if anything, Ed did while on the train was unclear. The staff remembered him there, knew he was passenger into the East, and wasn't a passenger when they began their South East decent.

This limited Ed's departure to a stop extremely close to the border, and there were only a few. The first being Yous Well, a town overly familiar with the Elric name, and the second being Dusnan, a small nothing-in-the-sand. It was someplace Ed would hate, and therefore fitting it was where he'd end up.

It took less than fifteen minutes for General Keshow to be advised Alphonse Elric had arrived in Dusnan, and less than thirty seconds for him to ask where Colonel Roy Mustang was.

* * *

Hawkeye found the Elric apartment deserted, and standing in the middle of it looking crushed Alphonse had weaseled away, Roy declared they were returning to office.

He knew the town of Ed's destination but nothing more. Scouting across the East for Alphonse was an option he was unwilling to entertain and he told Hawkeye this. Ordered her to relax. Ed had a solid head start, and no matter how swift Alphonse was, it was unlikely he'd arrive until after Ed completed his mission, so they had time. They would know when the Elric brothers reunited if for no other reason than Ed was sure to call the office screaming.

Exiting, they ignored the brass knuckles and wrapped package of plastic explosives on Ed's counter, and returned to the office just shy of the lunch hour to find it equally as deserted.

Roy found this infuriating.

Resumed his desk with Hawkeye at hers, and tried to work with the tock clicking and the work all but piling up.

"You would think," Roy said, speaking down to his report while angling a ruler, "that I could trust them to continue working." Wisely Hawkeye did not respond. "I'm not a god damn babysitter." It was so insulting. The scene of abandoned work priorities set opened and half completed in a cradle of partially eaten lunch meals, eerie. "I can't suspend all of them, we'll be put in our graves with this workload."

"Maybe there is a good explanation." Hawkeye sounded suspicious their might be. It was unlike their team to leave food.

Roy found this agitating, and responded with an angry, "And maybe there is a good explanation for shit."

From the corner of the room there came the soft murmur of a male voice. Slowly, Roy lifted his gaze and set his eyes on Hawkeye with flat disgust. _Things just kept getting better._

"If y…c...hear this," the voice was distant, crackled, and audible over one of Fuery's small intercoms. "Call…ex…mention…02."

Hawkeye stood up and quickly crossed the room to Fuery's collection of metal wire-fed boxes, with Roy complaining, "What is that?" She was touching things. Investigating wires and switch pads when he added a demanding, "Who is that?" Roy dropped his pen and rubbed his temples. "I need sleep, and if I am the only one hearing this, I am going home."

The sound was barely understandable and crackling out of one of the small communication ear speakers.

"Fuery's equipment is all powered on," Hawkeye announced, sounding confused. She looked back with a quiet contemplative stare. "Why would he have left it on?" Roy didn't answer. He didn't have anything nice to say. From the static, the poorly crafted and barely audible message was repeating, when Hawkeye asked, "What's extension 402?"

"It's not a suicide hotline, and that's what we need." Roy snatched his phone and dialed the extension. Sheska answered with a happy greeting and Roy promptly hung up.

Hawkeye gave Roy a perplexed look, and he explained with a quick, "It's Records."

"What?"

"Sheska picked up in Records."

Hawkeye was stumped, and looked back to Fuery's active intercom when the message crackled out another request the exertion be called, before commanding, "Let's call her back." She abandoned Fuery's mess in route to Roy's desk and Roy looked clueless.

"And do what with her?" Hawkeye waved toward the phone and Roy lifted the receiver and began redialing. "God willing I don't want to talk to her, she's insufferable at work."

Sheska answered, repeating the same greeting and sounding just a bit dampened. "Sheska, this is Roy Mustang," Roy said, announcing himself with authority before stalling out. She acknowledged him kindly and then waited for his reason for calling. "I…wanted to review a book, but I…have forgotten the proper process…" Roy glanced at Hawkeye and she gave quick nods of encouragement, signaling for him to keep going. "Can you explain it?" Sheska was happy to do so, and Roy sat with his head in his hand trying to manually shut down his ear. After a near two minutes of rambling he lifted a questioning eyebrow to Hawkeye and she shrugged before returning to Fuery's equipment.

Stepping over the wire carpet it was nesting in she carefully bent down to place her ear on the feeding speaker. Inside her uniform her figure became slightly more apparent and Roy sat looking at her rear. He could barely make it out in the professional attire, but he knew it was in there, and that's what mattered.

"It's not enough," Hawkeye said, looking up quickly. "Maybe…we should call her in here."

Roy lowered the receiver and shook his head quickly, whispering, "I don't want her in here." He pointed to the door. "Go find them. Find Fuery, I've had enough."

"Sir, someone is still on Fuery's channel." Hawkeye gestured to the large grey hunk of machinery none of them understood. "I don't know what station because the lights keep flickering more than one at a time as if it's being scrambled." Roy narrowed his gaze suspiciously. Fuery was talented enough to do something like that, but why would he.

Hawkeye took a quick motivated step to Falman's desk and rested her hand on top his abandoned burrito. "Sir, this food is still warm."

Roy scowled, and yanked the receiver back to his ear. "Sheska, earlier this morning you disturbed me while I was in Records," he said, voice suddenly angry. She silenced with surprise. "I am insulted and confused with your behavior, but I am a decent man, and I'll give you a chance to explain yourself. Be in my office in five minutes." He hung up and Hawkeye looked mildly disagreeing with this approach but said nothing. "Now I did it," Roy said, giving Hawkeye a stern look. "And you are responsible for getting rid of her if she won't go peacefully." Hawkeye cracked a small smile. "What?" Roy snapped, when it grew the tiniest fraction of an inch.

"You referred to yourself as a decent man."

"This isn't funny." Roy dropped his head into his hands and sighed. "This never would have happened, if I had kept myself focused more clearly. I should have had Alphonse under surveillance." He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Better yet, I should have kept him here. In the closet or even cuffed to my desk."

"Ed would not have told him where he was going." Hawkeye's voice softened, becoming sad. "He wouldn't have wanted Alphonse to know."

"But Alphonse is smart," Roy complained. "If fact, I'm beginning to think he's the older brother, and Ed's been told otherwise just to sate his fat head."

"Sir, that's not nice."

They had Sheska for only five minutes before things became apparent. She came, looking clueless but remorseful, and started her argument with, "Sir, I hope you can forgive me, but you were sleeping in my closet, while I was on duty." She was the most obnoxiously pious employee known to man. Central library may have terminated her for reading freely on the clock, but here she had no extra books at her disposal. She had already read all there was to read, and was happy, insanely happy, maintaining their supply in earnest dedication to Hughes. An association that rendered her untouchable, seconded by personal talent the Executive committee valued.

"I was not sleeping in the closet." Roy opened with his famous defense: _Outright unblinking denial._ "I was awake." It floundered sanctimonious recipients, and was a tactic without flaw until he made the mistake of introducing it to Edward Elric, and now lived a life where it was flung back into his face.

"Conducting very important work." A young Edward had also shown Mustang that in addition to dishonesty, groundless and logic defying statements could be added, and discretely, Roy had adopted this. "Conducting very important and classified work that needed to be done in that closet." _There, combat that Sheska._

She couldn't, and looked not only confused, but rightfully suspicious she was being lied to when the office door opened, Mustang's team filed in looking spooked, and made it no more than a few steps when Breda, who entered first, stopped dead on sight of Sheska, and corked the threshold.

"Sheska!" Havoc called. "How—what are you doing in here?"

"What am I doing in here?" She looked startled.

Fuery rushed in and to her side, protesting a quick, "Sheska, you have no idea what you're talking about. Sir, whatever she's reporting to you, she's completely confused."

Roy felt slack jawed. Fuery and Havoc appeared flustered, Breda especially so, and with them all attempting to approach his desk and report, Hawkeye had pinched her expression into one of baffled and opposed disbelief.

"She is completely confused," Havoc repeat Fuery quickly, arms stiff at his sides. "Isn't she, Breda?" The only one composed was Falman; straight faced and silent.

"What?" Sheska cried, glancing between them, "I am not confused! What are you talking about?" She was becoming angry, but with looks and gestures they implied she was a wreck, with Havoc supporting Fuery's claims and rudely pointing at the girl.

"Everyone!" Roy cried, bringing his fist down angrily. _The hell was this crap_. "Out of my office!" he ordered. All eyes turned to him and his team looked flabbergasted. "Not this team," Roy corrected. "Sheska. Sheska, you get out of my office, we have important business to discuss. Thank you for coming."

She left and slammed the door behind her.

Roy felt satisfied she probably would not ask him to her birthday next year. Was ready to address his displeasure with the team's behavior, and was inhaling to do so when Breda rushed to the office door to secure it and Fuery began uprooting loose papers from his uniform jacket looking worried.

"Sir, we couldn't find you to run our plans by you, and Falman said we didn't have to." Fuery extended his wad of papers, and Roy glanced at Falman when the man's jaw silently dropped. "But you need to look at this." Roy scanned over the few papers he had been handed. It was dialogue, written in pencil, with no identifying parties. Most of it appeared to be useless scribbles, but one six line conversation was circled several times, so the black pencil lead looked like a noose.

 _Have his brother kept safety until I arrive._

 _Yes sir._

 _Is he aware that his brother has left Central?_

 _No sir._

 _Make sure that he is. We will end this quickly. The team is projecting within the next two weeks. Not a schedule I would have preferred, but I'll authorize it._

 _Yes sir._

Roy looked up, softly asking, "Where did you get this?"

"We wire tapped General Keshow's office. He was on the phone with someone here." Fuery pointed to the papers. "He gave these orders."

"Whatever Ed's gotten himself into, they're going to hold Alphonse until they get it straightened out," Breda said, scratching at his beginning stubble with disapproval. "Ed said Alphonse was a wreck, he can't be out in the desert, sir."

"The obvious conclusion to that sentence being, what lieutenant?" Roy snapped angrily. "We just go get him?" _Hey, that one belongs to us. We'll take him from here, the little rascal._

"It is if you want to do something about the conversation we didn't write down," Havoc said, unlit cigarette dead between his lips.

"Oh," Roy said, fury emerging as sarcasm. "I apologize, I thought the wealth of illegally acquired information, obtained behind my back, without any authorization, and of the nature to have us all court marshaled, had been fully disclosed." He gestured they continue rudely, with a sour, "Please continue."

Fuery went silent, wavering between guilt and plain concern. "Sir, Ed has been apprehended by General Keshow's men. A small team, deployed after him." Roy lowered Fuery's notes with absolute surprise. _Why?_ "In two days the General plans to deploy you and three of us to the North on a pointless assignment, the other two will be kept here, but our conversation will be limited. No further details were discussed."

"They're scattering us." Roy stated the obvious, going stiff with alert. "That means they suspect we will seek collective action, and worse, that we'll take it." Havoc and Breda had composed themselves. Standing alongside Falman there was a stark difference between their polished professional expressions and Fuery's painful wince. Mustang had been certain Fuery would be his youngest in command when he brought him onboard. _Certain._ "Did they say anything else?"

"No further details on us," Fuery said quickly. "We don't know who is going North and who is staying here."

 _Great,_ Roy thought. He shot a glance to Hawkeye, but he could tell from her stone hard expression she expected them to be separated.

Havoc plucked the unlit cigarette from his mouth, and began shuffling the stick between his fingers in a graceful fluid roll. "We got a bunch of static for a moment, so we're not entirely sure, but it sounds as if the Chief is going to go missing for a while. It would be my guess his absence would be long enough that you'd become unsatisfied." Havoc quirked an angry smile. "And I find it reassuring some people still prefer not to have you unsatisfied, sir."

"It's not all that complimenting," Roy said. He sat back in his chair and brought his hand thoughtfully to his mouth. His index was tapping his lips in thought and inside General Keshow's office the noise of Mustang's chair made a soft static scuffle. Over the tiny microphone feed Mustang's voice sounded distant and slightly crackled when he gave his first order.

"You obtained dangerous information, behind my back, and without authorization. This will not happen again." His voice was angry, but also, worried. "Burn this. You're certain you were not caught?"

"We wouldn't be standing here if we were." It was hard to tell which soldier was speaking over the small radio set neatly alongside a hot pot of tea and plate of lemon squares on the General's coffee table. The only voices easily recognizable was the distinguished baritone of Mustang, and female Hawkeye.

"Sir, we need to take immediate action, before we're deployed."

"Immediate action would be irrefutably suspicious as well as expected. We need to think carefully."

"I used to room with a guy whose brother dated someone over in administration's third branch, and they verified there is a wet order for us, it's just waiting for a signature, and it's coming down in two days.

"The next time I step out of this office I will chain you all to your desks! This is not a game!"

"I called over to a friend in staffing, and there has been no state alchemist changes to the roster in the last few days. So no one has died."

"You knew his target was a state alchemist? All of you knew?"

"We know it sounds like Ed didn't pop his cherry."

"This is a royal cluster, sir."

"How reliable is that intel?" There was a pause. "Understand something." General Keshow lifted his gaze to Black Stone Major General Kohle who sat in front of his desk with a half-eaten lemon square in grip. There was the sound of Mustang's chair, and something slamming down. "I give the orders in this room, and until you receive an order, these dangerous attempts to aid will end up sinking us if we don't start rowing in the same direction!"

The General chuckled. It was possible Mustang was setting pretense to rip his team apart, to report their actions, to come quickly to swear allegiance in fear of tarnishing his gold stars.

Hawkeye said something, but her softer feminine voice was not picked up clearly. "That's out of the question," Roy shot back, tone very tight. He was suffocating under the weight of his prickling guilt. He had extended his hand, uncurled his fingers, and offered Edward up to them. _Here he is,_ and to Edward _, be a good boy now, they'll take care of you._ Like they had taken care of Hughes, like they had taken care of them in Ishval, like they took care of their own. Doting while useful, deserted when useless.

There was brief argument, two voice speaking at the same time, Hawkeye's tone again, but the microphone was too small to display it all properly.

"If we let them swipe one of us right out from under the rest of us, how strong does that make us look!"

"As strong as the entire army!" Roy said, voice vicious. "And we are the military, and they are the military. Don't forget yourself. No one is stolen, for the moment, we have simply misplaced one of our teammates, and what is lost can quickly be found again." Something was shoved across the desk and it jostled the microphone. "Use whatever resources you have available to yourselves, but do it carefully, find out if Ed took out his target. We need to know if he satisfied his mission, understanding that will tell us how precarious his position is."

The Major General lifted his lemon square, and finished it off in one bite. "See," he said, chewing thickly with satisfaction. "I told you we would need to start early with Mustang's team." He gestured toward the microphone. "If we had waited one cock-fucking day extra, we'd have these swinging dicks submitting more pretty forms and complaints than even you can manage." The Major General gave a raw gritty smile, flashing his fat incisors. "You should let me take the lead here, I know how to order the team. I'll squeeze the boy, make it last."

General Keshow smiled kindly. "I prefer to let the Lieutenant call the shots. I am curious as to how far the ramifications will go. Fullmetal has been enlisted for a long time. That gives him many years to strengthen political ties, even if he is ignorant of them." Keshow lifted his teacup and took a sip. "I hope the outcome is favorable, General. I don't intend to rattle Mustang's team more than is needed, and I am confident in our young alchemist."

The Major General gave a loud roaring laugh and slapped his knee. He leaned forward and shot a meaty finger forward. "He's an arrogant little puke. I'll bet he shits himself before this is all over, but not before Mustang proves me right." The Major General rose to his feet, pointing down to the coffee table and microphone, wagging his finger in disagreement. "No war hero sits back and lets a board of old men make decisions for him." Then he laughed at his own joke.

They laughed hard because they were old men, and they were making the decisions.

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! I moved my flight slightly so had to toss this up without a re-read (apologies) so I will look to do that early this upcoming week when I get back. Unfortunately, that does mean parts of this might get a bit cleaned up but no aspects of the story will change.

Chapter 18: _Honorable and Loyal Men_ , will be posted Saturday October 7, 2017.

(Then we'll have just one chapter left). Hope to see you there!


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